Ithilien Tales
by Azalais
Summary: What happened to Rowanna and Legolas after Amid the Powers and Chances of the World. (Each chapter a complete story) Chapters are in Fourth Age chronological order so the most recently added chapter isn't necessarily the last one in the sequence. Newest chapter December 2012: Chapter 7, The Turning of the Year.
1. A Scandal Has Wings

****The _Ithilien Tales_ series will fill in various titbits and gaps from the 120 years Rowanna and Legolas spend together between the penultimate chapter and the Epilogue of _Amid the Powers and Chances of the World__. _

__There is a first chapter, _A Night in Emyn Arnen_, which follows on directly from Chapter 48 of _Powers and Chances_; but that's rather too, erm, explicit for ffnet: so find that, if you're of appropriate age, at the other two sites where _Ithilien Tales_ is archived; Henneth Annun Story Archive (HASA) or Tolkien Fan Fiction (TFF)

As I post chapters I will, if necessary, move them around to keep them in chronological order - so the most recent chapter posted won't necessarily be the last one in the sequence. I'll try to keep the story summary updated to show which is the most recently added chapter.

**A Scandal Has Wings**

_Hísimë [November] Third Age 3020_

"_Must _we?"

Rowanna groaned as she finished perusing the letter which had just arrived at the Elves' encampment in Ithilien, courtesy of one of the King's errand-riders.

"Is it such a terrible idea?" Legolas, balanced cross-legged on a branch of the great cedar which housed their newly-built _talan_, raised an eyebrow.

"A ball at the Citadel for _mettarë_? Endless crowds of pompous Gondorian nobility as starched as their shirts, all overheated and gossiping?" Rowanna rolled her eyes. "You hate those balls! You avoided as many as you could after the Coronation, when people on the Fifth Circle were throwing them every night with some deluded idea of ingratiating themselves with the new King..."

"An endless procession of them rapidly lost its appeal, true," the Elf replied. "But once a sun-round or so I think I can endure! And you love to dance, and _I_ love to dance with you..."

"I don't know half the Gondorian court dances," Rowanna protested. "Gavottes and reels aren't so different from the country dances of the Mark, I grant you, but those minuets and sarabandes and things –"

"Half the dances should be enough, surely?" Legolas teased. "Besides, Faramir knows them all – we're invited to Emyn Arnen for dinner next full moon in any case; he can teach you any that you don't know. What's more you will be with me, and I have been dancing for an Age – do you truly think any steps Gondor's nobility come up with are going to defeat us?"

"Dancing with Wood-Elves in a clearing under the stars, when no-one is thinking about what impression they are making nor cares if I am in breeches and an old shirt with hay in my hair, is _very_ different from this!" Rowanna slapped the parchment indignantly. "You know what it will be like! Endless society matrons frowning because I won't lace myself into a corset so tight I can hardly breathe, or wear impossible shoes I can't walk let alone dance in, or braid my hair with so many jewels I look like a walking Nauglamír –" She broke off in exasperation as her lover threw back his head and laughed. "It's _not_ funny!"

"Oh, beloved." Legolas dropped gracefully from the branch on to the _talan_ and drew her down to sit beside him. "You do not truly care what any of them think, do you? Not when those who stare down their noses are bound to look completely ridiculous themselves in their quest to outdo one another – and when the Evenstar will outshine them all in the simplest of gowns? I promise you shall have a dress you will love – perhaps even Elven-made. And you will hardly lack for allies – Aragorn as well as Arwen will be there, and Faramir and Éowyn, and your mother –"

"_And_ Adramir and his wife," Rowanna exclaimed in horror. "At least Adra and I can hide in a corner and console each other about how dreadful it is – he dislikes balls almost as much as I do, I think – but Ithildîs! From what Mother says she still hasn't got over her vapours on discovering that you and I –" She broke off.

"That we threaten to scandalise all Minas Tirith because we are together without any marriage-ceremony?" Legolas' sparkling eyes suddenly clouded. "Is that what troubles you, _melethen_? That the respectable ladies of Gondor will cloak their jealousy at your skills and your freedom and the esteem in which King and Steward hold you, by looking askance because you wear no wedding-ring?" He sighed. "If it matters so, _rohiril_, I will happily _give_ you a ring..."

"_No!" _Rowanna flared up. "We agreed, Legolas – we would not lay claim to any marriage that we have not made. I know if we were both Firstborn our binding would have wed us for eternity; but when I die –" she gulped, but went on – "I will leave you forever. How can I wear an Elven ring? And if we were both Mortal, we would be pledged _till death us do part –_ but how could I ask you to make a vow which the Sea might force you to forswear? Aragorn and Arwen themselves owned that while they never saw a truer bond than ours in all Arda, they had no idea what to call it. Our love is what it is, and if I do not have the respect of the White City for what I am then I will not win it by pretending to a falsehood –"

"Peace, my love, peace!" He caught her gesturing hands, brought them to his lips and kissed them. "I would never so insult you. We are, indeed, what we are. And I do not believe that what _you_ are is afraid of milady Ithildîs, or any of her kind. Indeed – " his eyes danced with mischief – "this might be an excellent opportunity to tease the good lady just a little..."

"_That's_ a thought." Rowanna grinned back at him. "On one condition – while I endure, _you_ endure. If I find half-way through the evening that you have escaped through a window and gone to hide in a tree –"

"You have my word," the Elf assured her solemnly. "Agreed, then – I'll reply to Aragorn's Master of Ceremonies that Prince Legolas of Ithilien and the Lady Rowanna of Dôr Ararych are delighted to accept the King's invitation!"

...

"It's beautiful!" Rowanna reverently lifted the dress from its linen wrappings and held it up in the winter sunlight streaming through the window of her small cabin. "But there can't possibly have been time to send to the Greenwood! How on earth did you –"

"Not to Father's realm – but to East Lórien, where a goodly number of Lord Celeborn's folk have already decamped, yes. I have a confession to make –" Legolas looked sidelong at her. "I had knowledge of Aragorn's plans to hold a _mettarë_ ball some weeks before the invitation arrived..."

"You – you _maddening_ Elf!" She swiped at him in mock-outrage; he ducked with ease, chuckling. "And how precisely did you know I would agree to go?"

"I had faith in my powers of persuasion," Legolas retorted. "Besides, even if you refused – and you know, _melethen_, that I would never insist if you truly did not wish to – did I not tell you months ago how well wine-red velvet would become you?" He arched an eyebrow; Rowanna, remembering in just what circumstances he had expressed the desire to see her in red velvet, felt herself flushing with pleasure.

"It's so light..." she murmured, running her fingers over the fabric.

"Silk velvet," Legolas pointed out, "made from the finest Greenwood spider-thread."

"And the colour - just like the velvet dress I had in Rivendell..."

"I remember," Legolas agreed. "The one you were wearing the night we met." He leaned in and trailed his lips down her throat to the opening of her shirt. "Put it on..."

Rowanna laughed. "Not here in front of the window – if Malgalad happens to come by he'll die of shock!" She disappeared into her tiny bedroom; when she emerged a few minutes later Legolas smiled at the surprised delight he could feel radiating from her.

"It's perfect," she said, wonderingly, turning slowly to feel the skirts swirl around her and watching the long sleeves float as she moved. "No dreadful boning in the bodice or tight lacing –"

"What need, when it was made to fit you like a glove?" Legolas smiled. "I want to dance at Aragorn's ball with _you, rohiril, _not with a creature moulded into a shape I barely recognise by the demands of Mortal fashion! I know how you always claim to dislike formal dress – but I thought an Elven gown might be a different matter."

"How could it be made such an exact fit? None of the Elves back in the Greenwood have even seen me."

"But some of the Galadhrim now in East Lórien did see you when they rode to Minas Tirith in Arwen's train; and I gave the seamstresses _very_ precise measurements," he murmured in her ear. "Just as I said, wine-red is the perfect colour – you look beautiful. As glorious as a _brethilgaer_ in her autumn finery. And since you are so pleased with it, lover mine, I suggest you take it off in short order – after all," he pulled her into his arms, "it would _never_ do to crease it..."

...

Rowanna drew her feet up under her, curling comfortably into a well-padded armchair by the fire in her mother's parlour. She and Legolas had arrived in the City, with Taurlaegel and a few more of the Elves curious to experience a Mortal _mettarë, _in the early afternoon; Legolas had gone up to see his folk welcomed to their quarters in the Citadel, intending to come back down to the Rath Míriel in time to escort Rowanna and her mother to the ball.

"So what did Ithildîs have to say?" Míranna enquired as she sipped her tisane. "She hasn't seen you since the news came from Ithilien that you and Legolas are joined..."

"Remarkably little," grinned Rowanna, "though she looked as stiff as dried-out leather. She clearly couldn't work out whether to congratulate me or chastise me, so she did neither, and forced out some commonplace about the pleasure of welcoming me. Mind you, when she offered me hot water for a bath, she couldn't resist a remark about how I presumably had little opportunity for such 'out there in the wilds of Ithilien'! She might as well have told me to my face that I smell of horse..."

"Well, you need have no fear that she'll behave so to Legolas," Míranna chuckled. "You should have seen her when you both accepted my invitation to stay here; getting all the best plate and glassware polished up and wondering whether the tapestries were arranged to best advantage! What's really making her so sour, of course, is the social dilemma you two have placed her in – she can't work out just how to capitalise among her acquaintance on the notion that she is now _almost_ related to an Elf, and the royal family of Mirkwood at that, without tripping over the difficulty that you are not married in any way that Men would recognise, and apparently have no intention of becoming so, nor of presiding over a glittering Elven kingdom, or enriching yourself or your extended family thereby. Let alone the lack of a grand society wedding at which she could have gloried in her position before the nobility of half Gondor..."

"Even had there been any way we could marry, she was certainly never going to get one of _those!"_ Rowanna shuddered at the thought. She took a slow sip of her herb tea, and asked,

"Do _you_ mind, Mother?"

"That you and Legolas cannot be wed?" Her mother shook her head. "You know me, daughter – if I had cared a jot for convention, you and I would have returned dutifully to Minas Tirith after your father died in Rohan, for me to be married off again to the next appropriate suitor! What's in your heart matters far more to me than what is, or is not, on your ring finger – and anyone with eyes can see your heart is given utterly to Legolas, and his to you. What I mind is the thought of either of you, one day, bereft of the other, never to be reunited even beyond the Circles of the World..."

"I know." Rowanna sighed. "And you know that gave us both such pause that it nearly drove us apart forever. But in the end... we both realised that our hearts were given already, each only to be mended by the other; that if we must ultimately be parted, better to be so with the memory of joy fulfilled, however briefly." She reached over to squeeze her mother's hand. "Don't worry, Mother. I promise you, with all my heart – it _is_ worth it. And Legolas would say the same."

...

Some hours later, well wrapped up in cloaks and furs, Míranna and Ithildîs were handed into a litter for the short journey up to the Citadel; Rowanna, scorning the whole idea, insisted on going on foot with Legolas and Adramir, "for at least _I_ have shoes I can walk in!" she pointed out.

"And there is no danger of _that_ dress dragging in the dirt," Ithildîs commented before the litter's curtains were drawn. "I'm sorry no-one thought to tell you, dear, that trains are being worn this winter..."

Unwilling to vent her feelings as fully as she might have liked in front of Adramir, Rowanna grimaced instead at Legolas, who gazed deadpan back at her. "I am sure we will find," he observed, "that not having constantly to stop and pin up a train for dancing will more than outweigh any concerns about missing out on the very peak of the season's style." Unable to maintain her irritation, she chuckled instead as the three of them, with Adramir's manservant and Líriel the maid to attend them, wove their way up to the Sixth Circle and through the Court of the Fountain to the entrance of the White Tower.

With Líriel's assistance Rowanna divested herself of her cloak in an ante-room; she needed no help to adjust the Elven gown, which fell perfectly into place. "It's _beautiful_, mistress," exclaimed the maid, whose eyes had been like saucers at the sight of Legolas, in his dark green tunic embroidered with silver, his golden hair falling unbraided down his back. "And you look lovely. A fit companion for any Elven-prince!"

The Elf-prince in question turned from handing his own cloak to a footman and smiled. "That she is, Líriel, and I am honoured beyond measure to be escorting her. _Brennilen_, shall we go?" Making his most courtly bow, he offered her his arm and they fell into the line of guests processing towards the ballroom.

"_You're_ on your best behaviour!" Rowanna murmured into his ear, amused. He chuckled.

"I told you – I intend to enjoy this evening! And if you wish for victory over Ithildîs and her ilk, then we must play them at their own game..." He said no more, but arched an eyebrow, and she felt the mischief bubbling up within. _All right!_ she thought in response, and he grinned.

She had a bad moment on the threshold; _oh, no. I hadn't thought_ – The ball, it turned out, was being held in the great feasting-hall of Merethrond; _and the last time we were in there, the Lay of Leithian came down on us like the stroke of doom, and I thought I had lost you forever, and I ran_ -

_Fear not, melethen_. She felt the wave of reassurance from Legolas as he drew her a little closer to him. "That was a terrible night," he whispered, "but the time has come to overlay those memories with happier ones! Come!" She took a deep breath, and they stepped together into the hall.

...

Merethrond glittered in the light of a thousand candles; _mettarë _garlands of evergreens and silver ribbon hung both from the pillars, and across the musicians' gallery above the dais at the far end of the hall. The dancing had not yet begun; the hundreds of guests were milling around, being handed drinks by numerous footmen and, as Rowanna had predicted, gossiping:

"...so odd to have no receiving-line – these informal Elven ways, I suppose – but how _is_ one to be assured of a moment with the King or the Queen? – have you seen them anywhere?"

"Queen Arwen's there, look, in the grey – _such_ an odd colour for a ballgown, though of course she looks exquisite..."

Rowanna made a face and dragged Legolas towards the nearest footman. " Come on; I need a drink!"

As they thanked the serving-man for their goblets of spiced wine they became aware of a rustle and a murmur behind them, and turned to see Aragorn's dark head above the hastily parting crowd; nodding briefly to the bowing and scraping throng, he strode up to Legolas and Rowanna and embraced them before Rowanna could begin to remember how to sink into a curtsey.

"_Mae govannen, mellyn nin, a mettarë mereth!"_ he greeted them warmly. _"Lenn maer od Ithilien?"_

They assured him that their journey had, indeed, been uneventful; then talked, still in the Grey Tongue, of the progress of Faramir's stud farm at Dôr Ararych and of Legolas' survey of the orc-damaged lands further east. Rowanna was conscious all the time of the whispering of the curious crowds around them; just when she was not sure she could bear any more scrutiny,the musicians' gentle ripples of melody changed to a far more lively refrain, and the King smiled.

"Time, I think, for the first dance! Your pardon, my friends; for this set Arwen and I are spoken for with Lord Húrin and his lady, and various others – but join us for the second, if you will!" He bowed hand on heart to Rowanna, who by now was ready with her deepest curtsey, and made his way to the head of the hall in search of his Queen.

Some hours of dancing, eating, drinking and conversation later, Legolas drew Rowanna aside as a gavotte finished, into an alcove away from the crowds.

"How fare you, my love?"

"Better than I expected," she admitted. " You were right – it is wonderful to dance together! I found a few interesting people, too – there's a niece of Lord Húrin, a lass who must be sixteen or so, who's chafing at being squeezed into corsets and having pins stuck in her hair, and who's clearly horse-mad; she was intrigued to discover that one can be a woman and run a stud farm! I must ask Aragorn to talk to Húrin about her. And it's good to see Faramir and Éowyn – she has the perfect excuse not to be on her feet any more than she wishes, of course..."

Éowyn, heavily pregnant, was seated in another alcove across the hall, and Rowanna had spent a good half hour absenting herself from the dancing on the pretext of keeping the White Lady company. "Since she finds the stiffer element of high Minas Tirith society almost as ridiculous as I, we had a good deal to talk of!"

"Is it truly so trying?" Legolas frowned.

"Well, does it not drive _you_ mad?" Rowanna retorted. "I've seen at least three countesses and a duchess trying to manoeuvre you into dancing with their daughters this evening –"

"And I am delighted to do so," the Elf assured her. "Provided they understand that I am dancing and no more!"

"But they _don't_, that's just it," Rowanna groaned. "They saw us enter arm-in-arm, and yet – they see no ring on your finger, nor on mine, and see me neither with my hair down like one of the unmarried girls nor in one of those jewelled nets the matrons all wear, and know not what to make of us. You didn't hear the gossip I caught after we got separated in the supper-queue, while you were talking to Faramir – you are the fairest thing any of the maidens have ever seen, and your father's halls are rumoured to be stuffed with treasure from Smaug's lair; half the women in this hall are swooning for you and half the men are wishing they could run you through!"

Legolas threw back his head and laughed, the candlelight dancing on his gleaming hair.

"And you _really_ don't want to know," Rowanna finished with a sigh, "what they, especially Ithildîs's circle, think of me..."

At that he snapped to attention, ice in his expression.

"Mortal ideas of honour mystify me, _rohiril_, as well you know," he said, dangerously soft, "but such notions matter here, and thus here they matter to me. Tell me..."

"Oh, nothing said in terms to my face, of course – Powers forbid they should be so crude as that! The veiled comments about a horse-breeder's hands, or how _healthy_ – meaning sunburnt – I look, I don't mind; I've chosen a life most noble women consider downright eccentric, that I know. But making mock of you being with me... pointedly inspecting my bare fingers whenever anyone bows or curtseys over my hand; one friend of Ithildîs's announced _terribly_ sweetly that she'd heard I was your _gwedhanten_, and could I explain to her just what that meant? She was most disappointed when instead of rising to the bait, I suggested she take the trouble to study a little Sindarin and then she'd know..."

Legolas' blue eyes glittered. Before he could reply, however, Aragorn's major-domo banged his staff on the dais to announce the final dance of the evening, a minuet.

"Come," the Elf urged, holding out his hand to Rowanna. When she grimaced he added, "Fear not, beloved – I have an idea..."

Slipping easily through the throng, drawing her in his wake, Legolas arrived below the dais where the King and Queen were preparing to head the top set; Aragorn and Arwen welcomed them with a pleasure which earned the Elf and the mortal woman a number of envious glances.

As they joined their right hands and stepped in a stately circle around each other, Legolas murmured to Rowanna:

"As I said, _melethen,_ I have an idea. Since it appears the maidens and matrons of Minas Tirith are lost to all sense and reason and incapable of taking subtle hints, I fear there is nothing for it but to show them in terms they will understand. Are you prepared to make a scandal?"

His eyes danced wickedly at her. They circled back:

"What did you have in mind?"

He leant in closer and whispered in her ear, finishing just as the dance required him to return her to her place and step back; she grinned and nodded vigorously – then frowned, and tilted her head towards Aragorn and Arwen at the top of the set. He gave the smallest nod in response; a minute later, the elaborate pattern took him diagonally across the set to circle with Arwen, and he murmured to her also. Arwen hastily checked a burst of laughter and smiled delightedly at them both. Moments later, the equivalent steps brought Rowanna into Aragorn's firm hold.

"Legolas and I have a favour to ask of you and the Queen, Sire," she began in the Grey Tongue, "to help us out of a dilemma in which we find ourselves..."

He quirked an eyebrow at her as they circled. "Speak it, lady."

She murmured to him as Legolas had to Arwen; less restrained than his Queen, the King roared with laughter. "So be it, cousin! You have my good will!" As the rest of the set rustled with curiosity, he returned her punctiliously to her place and sketched her a bow.

The dance wound its stately way towards its close; as it concluded with a flourish from the musicians up in the gallery, each dancer turned and bowed or curtseyed, first to those on either side, and finally to their own partner. Rowanna swept Legolas the deepest and most graceful curtsey she had ever managed in her life; he bowed low to her, hand on heart – then drew her to her feet, into his arms, and, passionately, kissed her.

And kissed her...

And kissed her.

She heard the shocked gasps, first from the rest of their set, then spreading outwards through the hall as with nudgings and murmurings the news flew like wildfire; her heart soared, and she felt Legolas' answering surge of delight. _Indeed, my lords and ladies of Gondor – spread the word. Legolas is mine, and I am his, and here and now we declare our love without shame. Make of it whatever you will!_

At last they broke apart, eyes sparkling; then turned to face Aragorn and Arwen, who had watched the whole scene and were smiling broadly. Legolas and Rowanna made their reverence once again; the King and Queen stepped forward and embraced them. Aragorn signalled to the musicians, who struck up once more, and the stunned silence in the Hall of Feasts exploded into chatter as all four – Aragorn conspicuously arm-in-arm with Rowanna and Legolas with Arwen – left the set and made their way across to Éowyn's alcove. They said their goodnights to the White Lady and the Steward; Faramir pointedly clasped arms with Legolas, bowed low to Rowanna and kissed her hand as they made their final touches were put to Rowanna's satisfaction by the sight, discreetly pointed out to her by Legolas, of Ithildîs watching them go and looking horrified, envious and utterly thunderstruck all at once.

...

"I'm glad Aragorn and Arwen were not offended," Rowanna admitted with relief. "Not for the world would I have caused them any embarrassment. Unlike Ithildîs - did you _see_ her face?"

Much later – after partaking of a final glass of Dorwinion in the private royal chambers with Aragorn, Arwen and a highly amused Faramir – they were wandering back down to the Rath Míriel unaccompanied, cloaked against the cold and arms tightly wound about each other's waists.

"She'll never speak to me again," Rowanna observed happily. "Promise me you won't go down to breakfast before me in the morning – I _must_ see her expression when she tries to work out what to say to you!"

"How ungenerous of you, _rohiril_," Legolas teased. "Though I freely admit, if anyone deserves to be discomfited after the way she and her coterie behaved to you this evening, 'tis Lady Ithildîs! What in Elbereth's name makes her so joyless?"

"I think she was born so," Rowanna sighed. "Though Mother says she is even further soured by feeling she cannot profit from her new-forged connection to Eryn Lasgalen's royalty..."

"_That_ line of advance I sincerely hope we have cut off for good," Legolas protested. "Profit from me – what am I, one of Gimli's mines?"

This idea reduced Rowanna to helpless giggles. "It's just as well Gimli wasn't here tonight," she gasped when she could speak. "His Dwarven sense of propriety would have been _much_ offended..."

"So would his care for his friends, at the disdain being so-subtly directed at us," the Elf pointed out. "He would have understood the need for desperate measures!"

"Desperate indeed," Rowanna observed dryly, "being forced to embrace in public! Do you think it worked?"

"A good question," Legolas mused. "But just to make sure, _melethen_ – perhaps we should do it again..."

"Mmmm. There's an idea."

They halted on the corner of the Rath Míriel.

"Public enough?"

"Not very. But perhaps, for now, it will do..."

They pulled each other close, and kissed again long and deeply under the brilliant midwinter stars. _Worth it, indeed._

_...  
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**Author's notes:**

_talan_ – platform for sleeping or living in trees, as used by the Lothlórien Elves and, in my fic, adopted by Legolas' Ithilien colony.

_mettarë_ – New Year's Eve: for the Elves, a spring festival, but for the Dúnedain, celebrated on the winter solstice.

_brethilgaer_ – copper beech

_rohiril _– horse-lady (one of Legolas' nicknames for Rowanna, originally coined by Elrohir)

_melethen_ – my love

_brennilen_ – milady

"_Mae govannen, mellyn nin, a mettarë mereth! Lenn maer od Ithilien?"_ - "Well met, my friends, and happy New Year's Eve! A good journey from Ithilien?"

_gwedhanten – _lit. "bound one"; bond-mate, one who is 'bound' in the Elven sense to a life-partner. (The verb is Tolkien's but as far as I know I'm inventing this particular usage of it.)

This story was at least partially inspired by curiouswombat's hilarious short fic The Right Kind of Shield (available on LiveJournal or the Faerie Tolkien fanfiction archive), in which Legolas needs protection from very much the same sort of harassment from over-keen mortal matrons as in this piece...

And the title comes from a quotation from Thomas Fuller: "A lie has no leg, but a scandal has wings."


	2. Day is Ended, Dim my Eyes

A true drabble (100 words) inspired by imagining Rowanna's reaction to hearing about Bilbo's departure into the West.

_Yávië (September) 3021, Third Age_

The accompanying note hastily scribbled by Aragorn, fortunately, gives her a little warning. But the letter, in Elrond's firm crisp _tengwar_, still brings tears starting to her eyes.

_After the Ring was destroyed, all his years seemed to crowd in upon him in a matter of days; suddenly he is old, and frail, and pained by walking and writing both. Soon now Mithrandir, Galadriel and I will set forth for the Havens; and Bilbo, it is agreed, shall sail with us._

"They are going into the West and leaving us..."

Legolas holds her, understanding all too well, as she weeps.


	3. Steelsheen's Foal

**Steelsheen's Foal: or, A Very Different Night in Emyn Arnen**

_19 Urimë/10__th__ August F.A.4, Ithilien_

Dôr Ararych, the Steward's stud farm, slumbered in the warmth of a summer evening. Rowanna was making her habitual round of her herds in the meadows, checking the salt licks and the water troughs, when she heard her name called from the edge of the trees. Shading her eyes against the last slanting rays of the sun she looked up, and recognised Halvir, Faramir and Éowyn's stable-lad from Emyn Arnen, astride a dun pony at the end of the path.

"Halvir! What can I do for you?"

"Can you come, mistress?" He looked down at her anxiously, hair a tousled mess and his shirt, Rowanna noticed with a smile, laced up wrong as usual. "It's Steelsheen…"

Rowanna was alert at once; the blue roan mare was Éowyn's favourite. "What's troubling you, Halvir? She's not due to foal for a fortnight or so yet, is she?"

"We didn't think so." Halvir ran a hand through his tangled dark mop. "Otherwise my lady would never have gone to Minas Tirith with the Steward – not with Raedmund still laid up with his leg-bone knitting after Eilenach threw him! Steelsheen's udder's hardly bagged up at all yet, but the last day or two she's been hiding away in a corner of the paddock; I tried to look this afternoon to see if the udder was dripping anything yet, but she wouldn't let me near her, and she was stamping and starting to kick at her belly…"

"That does sound as though she might be starting." Rowanna cast an eye over the last water trough and nodded, satisfied. "Did you tell Raedmund?"

"Yes – and he said the same; but he's not on a crutch yet, he can't get up from his bed. So he told me to leave Dirhael keeping an eye on Steelsheen, and get over here as quick as I could and ask you if you could –"

"I'll come," Rowanna assured him. "Bring the pony up to the yard for a drink, while I get a cloak and tell Malgalad where I'm going; I'll be as swift as may be."

Striding back into the yard, she called for one of the lads to saddle Forodhél, her bay gelding, and sent another running to warn her head groom of her departure. Ducking through the door of the simple wooden house Faramir had insisted on building for her before her first winter in Ithilien – "for you can't spend all your nights sleeping in the stables or on a _talan_!" she reached for a plain grey cloak from a hook on the wall; then changed her mind, and caught up the embroidered green one beside it instead.

_Best not take the Lorien cloak_, she reflected; _in the twilight I'd probably fade from poor Halvir's view entirely, and he's fretting enough already!_ She bundled a spare shirt, breeches and linen into a saddlebag; took two coils of slender white rope down from a shelf and wrapped them in a bit of cloth; found her knife in its sheath, fastened the cloak over her shoulders with its enamelled leaf brooch, and pulled her door closed behind her.

"Back tomorrow morning, I hope, Malgalad," she assured the groom as she leant down from Forodhél's saddle. "Later, perhaps, if Steelsheen hasn't really started yet and Raedmund wants me to stay and watch her – in that case, I'll send word…"

Malgalad nodded and reached up to clasp her hand.

"Fear not, we'll be well enough here. Here, take this –" he passed a small lantern up to her – "the moon doesn't rise for a while yet, and it may be full dark under the trees before you're there. Good luck, mistress!"

_I hope I won't need luck,_ Rowanna mused, as she and Halvir set off southwards into the gloaming, _but he may be right. Éowyn dotes on Steelsheen – if she'd thought she was about to foal she'd never have left her, even at Aragorn's personal invitation. Still, Powers willing, it will all be straightforward enough – it's only because Raedmund can't keep an eye himself that he wants me there…_

As their path led them away from the farm buildings, and began to pass under the trees, Rowanna reined in.

"Just a moment, Halvir." Leaning over from the saddle, she laid a hand gently on the trunk of the nearest holm oak and looked up into the foliage. "I'm going to Emyn Arnen," she said clearly, picturing in her mind the white house nestling in the shelter of the hills, with the laurel trees about it. Above her the leaves rustled gently. _Stars know what Halvir will make of that_, she reflected; _fortunately I'm long past caring if the folk of Ithilien think me cracked for talking to trees!_

Malgalad had been right about the lantern; it was nearly fully dark by the time Rowanna and Halvir reached Emyn Arnen, and bats wheeled and dived in front of them as they emerged from the trees and crossed the clearing in front of the house. They walked their mounts around to the stables; Halvir set about making Forodhél and his own pony comfortable, while Rowanna set off to the paddock. Sure enough, the flickering of another small lantern away in the far corner of the field showed her where to find the second stable-lad, Dirhael, watching over Éowyn's precious mare.

Steelsheen was still on her feet, but pacing to and fro; as Rowanna cautiously approached she turned her head to one side and then the other, biting at her flanks. Dirhael slipped quietly down from the fence where he was sitting.

"She took to this corner in the late afternoon and hasn't stirred from it," he said softly. "Should we move her indoors? I scrubbed the biggest stall clean, as Raedwald said, and put fresh straw down…"

"That was well done, in case we have a thunderstorm tonight and want her inside," Rowanna assured him. "But it's clear for now, and warm enough; if she wants to stay beneath the stars then we'll let her be. How long has she been looking and biting at her sides like that?"

"Since a little after sundown…"

"Then my guess is you and Halvir were right; she'll be starting soon. Wrap her tail and wash her hindparts – did you ask Frideswide to get plenty of water hot? – and then just sit quiet and let her be. I'm going to go up and see Raedwald; if she lies down, come and tell me!"

Rowanna knew she had found Raedwald's room before she entered, thanks to the pungent smell of the comfrey decoction soaking his bandages. Éowyn's groom was propped up in bed, on the ground floor of the house, his splinted leg resting on a cushion.

"_Ferthu hal!_" he greeted her gruffly. "Sorry about the smell of the knitbone – I barely notice it any more but I'm told 'tis foul…"

They talked for a few minutes about Steelsheen; then Rowanna made her way back to the paddock. She passed through the kitchens for a brief word with Frideswide the housekeeper, who as promised had a cauldron of water on the fire, and supplied Rowanna with clean linen rags and lye soap as well as a parcel of bread and cheese.

"For I know you of old, mistress," she warned, "you could be hours down there yet and you'll be hungry soon enough!"

"You could be right," Rowanna chuckled, remembering she had missed the evening meal back at Dôr Ararych. "I'll send Dirhael up if we're running short of anything!"

Some hours later, with the moon high overhead, the three of them were still waiting as Steelsheen paced and pawed the ground. Dirhael had dozed off; "Leave him," Rowanna urged Halvir, "for if we're up all night then you might be glad to let him take the later watch!" She unstoppered the earthenware flask the housekeeper had sent down a little while before. "I'm glad Frideswide thought of this coffee of Faramir's!"

"Do you think we're wrong after all and she's too early?" Halvir murmured.

Rowanna shook her head. "I doubt it. She's a little short of the eleven-month, true, but summer foals are often carried shorter than spring ones, and it's her first…" Suddenly, she sat bolt upright.

"Look – yes, there, she's lying down! Bring the lantern over here, Halvir…"

Steelsheen did lie down, but almost at once got up again; after several unsuccessful attempts, she finally settled on her side, legs stretched out. Looking closely in the lantern-light, Rowanna nodded.

"That's good – see, her hind legs are wet? Her waters have broken – so at least I don't need my knife for now!" She moved away again, glanced up at the moon, and sat down.

"What do we do now?" Halvir whispered.

"Nothing, I hope!" Rowanna murmured back. "Birthing mares don't like to be crowded or fussed – we stay well back out of her line of sight, let her be, and watch."

As time passed, however, and the mare continued to strain, Rowanna became uneasy, looking from Steelsheen up to the moon's passage across the sky and back again.

"This is taking too long; I don't like it. Run up to the house – fast as you can! – and tell whoever's in the kitchen that I need water, really hot, right away – and olive oil, a big jar…" As Halvir dashed off, Rowanna bit her lip.

"Come on, girl," she said softly in Rohirric to the mare. "You can do this. What's the trouble?"

Intent on Steelsheen, she did not notice a tall slender figure, shimmering faintly in the darkness, dropping from a tree at the paddock's edge; but she felt a sudden wave of familiar warmth bathing her, and turned with a sigh of relief.

"How did you know I wanted you?"

"The trees told me you'd gone to 'the-place-of-the-laurels'," Legolas said softly, dropping into a crouch beside her, "and I guessed that only a foaling would bring you down to Emyn Arnen at nightfall; so I thought you might wish for company, if you had a long wait. But something's amiss?"

Rowanna nodded tensely. "She's been straining hard since the moon crossed below the Archer's shoulder – and that's too long. Perhaps just a leg back, or she needs help to turn the foal a little – or if I'm really out of luck, then it's hind-first…"

She broke off as Halvir returned, not daring to run with his steaming covered bucket, but managing a rapid stiff-legged walk; he put the water down for her, panting hard, and tried not to stare at the Elf who was hunkered down at the mare's side.

"My thanks, Halvir," she said softly, "but move away now; the fewer of us about her, the happier she'll be." She knelt down by Legolas.

"I don't want to reach in if I don't have to; the less I meddle, the better, but if needs must… Can you tell which way the foal lies?"

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment, stilling his breathing, resting one hand on Steelsheen's heaving flank.

"_Sidh, sidh, emmig_ ," he murmured. _"Tiriatham..."_ He moved both hands slowly over the mare's side, his bow-callused fingertips gently brushing her sweating hide. At last he sat back.

"You were right, _melethen_," he said softly. "The head is here –" he gestured towards the middle of Steelsheen's belly – "and here, the hindquarters. Hindmost-first."

Rowanna grimaced, rolling up her shirtsleeves, unstoppered the jar of olive oil and took the lid off the steaming bucket. "Then I need to wash! Halvir, quickly, wake Dirhael, I'm going to need all of you. Then reach into my saddlebag – there's a little cloth packet there with some fine white rope in it. Bring it here, and _don't_ drop it on the ground, it's clean – now make two half hitches in each piece, a few inches apart."

Legolas was still murmuring to the distressed mare. "Do you want me to –"

"No, I can do it – my hands are smaller than yours. Though your arm's longer, so if I find I can't reach…" She finished scrubbing her hands, rinsed them, and dipped one hand into the jar of oil, spreading the golden liquid up to her elbow. Legolas shifted up towards Steelsheen's head, making room, as Rowanna took a deep breath and carefully slid her hand inside the mare.

"I've got the legs – there's the hocks and, yes, I can feel the soles of the hooves. Hind-first all right, but not breech, thank heavens. I'm going to need more oil…" Legolas was at her side at once with the jar. Rowanna dipped into it several times. "That should make things easier… Legolas, lift Steelsheen for me, can you? I need to get these ropes on the hind legs." She slid one loop of rope inside, then the other. "Got it – one over each fetlock. Halvir, Dirhael, over here, pull with me. Come on, Steelsheen, _push_…" As the mare strained, Rowanna and the stable-lads braced and pulled.

"That's – better – moved a little…" Several more pushes. Rowanna was now panting almost as hard as Steelsheen. "Keep pulling on my mark, even when she's not pushing – she's tiring now and if we don't get this foal out it'll suffocate. Ready – _pull!_"

Suddenly, with one last heave, it was over; the pale slimy sac slithering into Rowanna's waiting arms. She pulled away the membrane, found the foal's head, wiped its nostrils.

"Blast, not breathing. Dirhael, hold the lantern up – higher! Halvir, that muslin, quickly –" As Halvir passed her the fine cloth she placed it across the foal's nostrils and sucked, hard. "Come on, little one, breathe!" She turned the foal upside down – "It's a filly!" she observed – slapping its ribs while pale fluid drained from its nose. After a seemingly-endless pause, there was a tiny snort and the foal's chest heaved. Rowanna let out a long breath.

"That's it!" Gently she laid the wet, scruffy bundle by its mother's head, watching closely. Steelsheen whuffed softly and sniffed at her foal.

"Move back, everyone," Rowanna said softly. "They both need to rest now."

"What about – the cord?" Halvir asked hesitantly.

"She'll break that when she's ready, when she gets up and starts cleaning the foal off," Rowanna assured him. "Which is why I'm going to sit and watch her, to make sure she's not too exhausted. Dirhael, can you go and make her a warm bran mash? She'll need it – make it good and wet. Halvir, I could use another flask of drink – coffee, posset, anything as long as it's hot. Then you two can both get to your beds!"

Elf-prince and mortal woman sat with their backs to a tree-trunk, talking softly as they watched Steelsheen and her foal. The mare was on her feet now, sniffing and licking all over her new arrival; the afterbirth had passed cleanly, and Rowanna had inspected it minutely, with Legolas holding up the lantern, and pronounced it intact and the delivery complete.

"It may be her first time, but she knows what to do!" Rowanna observed with relief. "I was worried she'd be so exhausted she'd reject the foal… Poor Éowyn will be so furious she missed this!"

"Do you wish she'd been here?" Legolas enquired. Rowanna shook her head.

"I know she's seen plenty of foalings, but she dotes so on Steelsheen – she would have fretted, especially once she knew the foal was hindfirst, and if the mare didn't sense her anxiety then I certainly would have done!" She heaved a sigh of relief and leant back against Legolas' chest. "I'm just glad that when Aragorn decided to honour her and Faramir – and Theoden King's memory – six years on from their handfasting and the King's funeral, he settled on doing it with a dinner private enough that you and I didn't have to go!"

"He _did_ extend the invitation, in fact," Legolas murmured. "But I convinced him that he and Arwen, Faramir and Éowyn, and Éomer King and Queen Lothíriel were all the guests he required; I knew you would not want to leave Ithilien while you had mares yet foaling..."

"So you saved me the trouble of having to refuse!" Rowanna chuckled, and turned her head to plant a kiss on Legolas' chin. "_Hannon le, meleth nin…_"

"Look, the sun's coming up," Legolas said softly. "Steelsheen will be well enough now until Halvir and Dirhael are awake, beloved. Come back to the house and let Frideswide find you a bed; I can get Taurlaegel or Falastir to take word back to Dôr Ararych that all's well..."

"That's a _very_ good idea," Rowanna yawned as Legolas drew her to her feet. He slid a supporting arm around her waist; they cast one more look at the mare and her newborn foal, and wandered back up to the house as the new day dawned.

**Author's Notes:**

_Dôr Ararych_ – Place of Noble Horses (the stud farm Rowanna runs for Faramir between Cormallen and Emyn Arnen)

_Forodhél_ – Northern Star

_sidh_ - peace

_emmig _= little mother

_tiriatham_ – we shall see

_Hannon le, meleth nin_– Thank you, my love

_melethen_ – beloved ("My" in Sindarin can be expressed either by _nin_ or by the suffix _en_** –** I've always had Legolas use the latter form and the Rivendell Elves, and Rowanna who learnt her Sindarin in Rivendell, use the former.)

Blue roan horses are a beautiful blue-grey colour rather like tempered steel (try looking on Google Images!) so I decided blue roan would be a good colour for a mare called Steelsheen (and I hope Éowyn's grandmother Morwen of Lossarnach, known as Steelsheen, would not be offended at Éowyn wishing to name a favourite horse after her...

I am by no means an expert on any aspect of equines (so my choosing to create an OFC who's a horse-breeder can only be a strange form of masochism!) - if any horsey aspect of this story strikes the more knowledgeable as unlikely for Fourth Age Ithilien (with Rohirric and Elven horse-lore brought to bear as well) then do let me know.

Comfrey was known as knit-bone in the Middle Ages, since it was believed to have bone-healing properties. Famously, however, comfrey decoctions smell foul.

Faramir and Éowyn were troth-plighted on 10th August 3019 at Theoden's funeral feast, so this story takes place on the sixth anniversary. Since Tolkien indicates in _LoTR_ Appendix D that the Eldar (and therefore, I presume, the Númenorians and later the Dúnedain) tended to reckon in sixes and twelves, I've always assumed that sixth and twelfth anniversaries would be significant rather than the multiples of five or ten which we tend to mark.

And lastly (but by no means least) many thanks to Curiouswombat for the beta!


	4. Satisfied All Three

_Ithilien, early Fourth Age_

Legolas and Rowanna walked the pastures of Dor Ararych together, making sure all was well with the herds before darkness fell. The sun was beginning to drop towards the horizon, and the chatter of birds could be heard from the nearby woods as they began to roost.

"All right, Bron?" Rowanna enquired of the lad who sat at the foot of a lone oak tree, whittling a bit of wood, a brindled lurcher dog dozing at his feet. He looked up and grinned.

"Aye, mistress - I'm on watch till moonrise, then Maegened's coming out. If there's so much as a sniff of that wolf who's been hanging around then Feril here will let me know, fear you not!"

"Got your sling?" Rowanna warned. "And plenty of pebbles?"

Bron nodded. "If he tries anything clever, he'll regret it - and Feril will soon have half the farm roused! Goodnight to ye, mistress, Master Legolas."

Satisfied, they turned back towards the stables and the house. As they reached the trees, there was a sudden rustle in the foliage; Legolas looked up sharply, then leapt for a branch and pulled himself up.

"What is it?" Rowanna called after a moment. The Elf dropped easily to the ground once again.

"They're nearly here - they've passed the clearing north of the last stream. They'll be with us before dark."

Elladan and Elrohir's first visit to Gondor since the end of the War had been promised ever since the news, the previous leaf-fall, that their sister was with child and would deliver in the spring. Despite the survey and repair work on Gondor and Arnor's roads swiftly put in train by Aragorn after his coronation, a journey from Rivendell to Minas Tirith even on Elven steeds was a matter of some four to six weeks, and not undertaken lightly. Three weeks after baby Eldarion's birth, the Peredhil had arrived in the White City; now, having spent a few days as Faramir and Eowyn's guests at Emyn Arnen, they had sent word to expect them at Dor Ararych.

Rowanna nodded. "Well, we'd best get back, then! The grooms and the stable-lads may be fairly used to _you_ these days, but the Sons of Elrond might be a different matter..."

"Surely they will be on their best behaviour?" Legolas teased as he vaulted easily over a gate and opened it for Rowanna.

"I'm not sure Elrohir has such a thing!" she retorted. As she reached to fasten the gate behind her, Legolas saw her bite her lip.

"What is it, _melethen_?"

"Only that –" She leant against the gate, looking anxiously at him. "Elrohir was never particularly warm towards you, as I recall. And remember, he hasn't seen me since Aragorn and Arwen's wedding-feast; and two nights before that..."

"You _what?"_ At first, as Rowanna sobbed out her tale on his shoulder, Elrohir had looked thunderstruck; then his voice had taken on a furious edge. "With _Legolas?_ What in Morgoth's name is Thranduilion thinking of? Just wait till we get back to Minas Tirith! I'll–"

"No, Elrohir!" Rowanna had protested through her sobs. "None of this is Legolas' fault! He–"

"Oh, isn't it!" Elrohir had scowled, before he was quelled by Elladan. "We'll see about that–"

"He was vowing to run me through?" Legolas' eyes now glittered. "He came close to threatening it the night you got back to the City. But he has written civilly enough this last year and more with news of the North. Do you truly think, _rohiril_, this is anything more than a visit of old friends?" He stepped close in the twilight and took her gently by the shoulders, gazing into her eyes. "_Was _he in love with you?"

"I... no. No, I never believed so." Rowanna shook her head. "He was fond of me, he teased me, when I was recovering in Rivendell he took me under his wing; but it was the fondness of a brother, I always felt, for an indulged little sister." She took Legolas' proffered hand as they turned once more towards the stables and the house. "I was like a fosterling, almost a kind of pet – that used to infuriate me; he never could accept that I was truly capable of thinking for myself, let alone that I had the temerity to give my heart to you without his prior approval!"

"He made _that _clear enough at the time, as I remember. Never mind running me through, I thought he was going to punch me – as Béodred had already tried to." Legolas smiled ruefully. "Perhaps I should be grateful they never joined forces..."

Rowanna chuckled. "Hardly likely! Béodred was jealous enough of Elrohir himself back in Rivendell – not surprising, given how mercilessly Elrohir tweaked his tail!"

The lights of the house were glowing through the twilight as Legolas stopped, for a moment, at the edge of the trees.

"I hate to see you anxious, _melethen_, and I know Elrohir's tongue can cut like a blade when he wishes," he said softly. "But I would not for the world insult you by offering to protect you, or threatening Elrohir the moment he looks in your direction! You can fight your own battles, I know well enough. And so, I assure you, can I. Only –" he brushed an escaping tendril of dark hair back from her face – "if you do need me, promise me you will let me know?"

A smile spread across Rowanna's face.

"You see, _that's_ exactly why I fell in love with you and not with Elrohir. After that one time with Caradhras and the saddle – do you remember? – you never again treated me as a child or a fool. In fact –" her arms went about his waist – "did you ever realise exactly _when_ I lost my heart to you? Though I'm not sure I knew it myself at the time..."

He cocked his head on one side, questioning.

"When you found me in the crowd below the Golden Hall in Edoras, just before you all rode out to Helm's Deep. You guessed I was going to try to get to Minas Tirith, to find Mother, and as we stood there I was certain you were going to try to stop me – that you'd tell Aragorn, or Théoden King..."

"I knew better by then than to try it!" Legolas retorted, laughing. "Though in that moment I did wish, more than anything in Middle-earth, that I was not sworn to Aragorn and to the Quest and could have gone with you – so instead I did the best I could..."

"You gave me your cloak, and your blessing with it." Rowanna drew him close, hugged him tightly, and then drew his head down for a swift kiss. "I'd like to see Elrohir take us on – I suspect he has no idea what he is in for! Come, then, _meleth nin_ – that haunch of venison Faeldis was going to roast should be ready in time for supper, and there's plenty of Bowdyn's mead; or jars of your father's wine, if Elladan and Elrohir prefer."

As they crossed the open space beyond the trees, dew-damp grass whispering against their boots, Legolas drew in a breath. "They're here."

Rowanna squinted for a moment into the gathering darkness – then caught the pale flicker of two shapes, and the faint clopping of shifting hooves. "They're still riding greys, then," she observed with a flash of nostalgia. "Come on – they're probably setting the whole yard by the ears already!"

There was indeed commotion in the stable-yard as several of the younger lads crowded around, fussing over the perfectly-matched pair of Elven beasts and exclaiming over their form. Only Elves could pair two stallions up and have them behave like the quietest geldings! The horses' immaculate white coats seemed to glow in the twilight; _almost like their riders_, Rowanna observed with amusement. One of the Peredhil – _Elladan?_ was talking quietly to Malgalad the head groom; a moment later her guess was confirmed, as a familiar drawl drifted over from the other dark-haired figure haranguing Faeldis, the housekeeper, at the house-door:

"... really, you'd think after we've ridden a few hundred leagues the mistress of Dor Ararych might have been here to greet us; but I realise how low we must rank in –"

"_Stop_ it, Elrohir," Rowanna called firmly, marching across the yard to rescue her flustered housekeeper. "_You_ haven't changed a jot, I see. Faeldis, take no notice, he's teasing – he's always thus, I'm afraid..."

"I am wounded. Wounded!" protested the son of Elrond, sweeping her an elaborate bow – and then pulling her into his arms and, before she had a chance to react, kissing her soundly. She felt a flicker of amusement from Legolas, watching from the sidelines: _Does he seek to discomfit you, do you think, beloved, or me?_

_No matter – he won't succeed in either!_ she thought back, returning Elrohir's embrace with interest. To her delight, when she broke off it was he who looked, just for an instant, taken aback.

"I was going to say you had not changed either – still marching around with hay in your hair ordering everyone about; but I don't recall ever being greeted with quite such enthusiasm before!" he remarked. "Anyone would think you were pleased to see me..."

"But of course, Elrohir; I'm delighted to see _both_ of you." Rowanna turned to the chuckling Elladan, and found herself enveloped in a rather more brotherly hug. "As is Legolas!"

The Elf stepped forward, one eyebrow very slightly arched, and for a moment Rowanna wondered just how mischievous he would be; but if he was tempted to make a point by kissing Elrohir himself, he resisted, contenting himself with offering each brother a clasp of arms. It did not escape Rowanna's notice that Elrohir locked eyes with him for just a moment longer than Elladan had done.

"Has Malgalad arranged everything you need?" she enquired. "He probably wants to get that beautiful pair into stalls before the hands pet them to death! Did you leave Nimloss and Nimfaun at home?"

Elladan nodded. "They're largely retired, now; we'd ridden them for nigh on a twelve-year, through many an Orc-hunt and then the War, and they're getting a little long in the tooth to carry us all the way from Eriador to Gondor. Not that they think so – we were severely out of favour for leaving them behind; I don't think Nimfaun will speak to me again for a twelvemonth! Is Gelion still hale and well?"

"In his prime – he was a youngling when I brought him from Rivendell, of course. He's in the second stall from the end, if you want to give him your greeting. So what are this new pair called?"

"Elin and Tinu – and yes," as Rowanna looked puzzled, "they do both mean 'star'; they are twins! The first twin greys born in Imladris for nearly a Great Year..."

"So of course," Elrohir put in, "they had to be ours. And it's time we got them stabled; I don't know whether they're famished, but I certainly am now that I can smell that venison..."

~~~

Over a long and convivial dinner, news was exchanged of Imladris, Ithilien and of Minas Tirith.

"So what did you make of your nephew?" Rowanna enquired. Elrohir leant back in his chair.

"Oh, he seems to have the requisite number of fingers and toes – he is adequate, don't you think, brother?"

"Given the way you melted when you held him and he gurgled at you," suggested Elladan, "you seemed to think him rather more than _adequate_."

"I did no such thing!" Elrohir retorted. "Obviously, one has to show oneself sufficiently doting in front of the proud parents – really, I haven't seen Estel so besotted since the first time he was allowed a kitten when he was four..."

_Taking great care to sound careless,_ thought Rowanna, _as you've been all evening_... Elrohir's edginess, she reflected, ironically showed more clearly refracted through the open-hearted Elladan, who inevitably picked up his twin's every mood. Glancing at Legolas, she knew his thoughts were tending along similar lines.

The conversation moved on to the reconstruction of Ithilien; the cleansing of the soil, the replanting of trees, the gradual growth of the Elven colony. Legolas described its construction and layout for the curious Peredhil; the central clearing where all met of an evening to share fire and food, the small _telain _for sleeping and the larger ones for crafts, the woodturner and armourer and bowyer –

"Still keeping your hand in with blade and bow, then," Elrohir observed idly. "Would you believe, we actually have to make time for practice these days; Eriador is far too quiet! Care for a bout tomorrow?" Elladan shot him a sharp look; Elrohir affected not to notice.

"Of course, if you wish," Legolas agreed evenly. "I've no practice blades with me – but Angbrannon the smith keeps a full set, does he not, Rowanna?"

"He does; all males who are of age are still required to keep in training, by the Steward's order, and a fair few of the women do too. Everyone in this part of Ithilien remembers the days of orc-raids..."

"That's settled, then." Elrohir yawned and stretched. "Morning or afternoon?"

Legolas considered. "Morning for sword-work, I think, if swords are your choice; the wind's getting up now and it will still be blustery at daybreak. It'll die down after noon, so that'll be the time for a fair contest with the bow."

"Never doubt the weather-wisdom of a Wood-elf!" Elladan laughed. "I sparred with Aragorn this morning – fatherhood has slowed him down, or that was his excuse when I put him flat on his back inside a minute! – so you take Elrohir on with the blade, and then we'll all shoot after lunch."

~~~

Later, in Rowanna's rooms, firelight danced across the hangings on the walls. Rowanna had got up from her chair by the hearth, where she had sat to let Legolas unbraid and brush out her hair in one of their favourite evening rituals, and was now sitting up in bed hugging her knees. The Elf, though, was still staring into the fire, and she could feel his fretful uncertainty.

"_Meleth nin?_ What's wrong?"

When he did not answer at once, she probed gently at his thoughts, but found them a shifting confusion of images: Elrohir; herself sitting by another hearth she did not recognise; a tall blond Rohir whose face she could not see... She scrambled off the bed and, taking Legolas' hands, drew him gently down into the chair in his turn, and stood behind him kneading the tension out of his shoulders. With the contact, her sense of his unhappiness and anxiety grew stronger, but still she could not unravel it.

"You're going to have to help me, my love; I can't read this riddle..."

He sighed, arching gratefully into her touch.

"I... I know you are right about Elrohir, his feelings for you – and yours for him; I have no fears on that score, believe me. But I still think back, from time to time, to that stinging lecture he gave me the night before Aragorn and Arwen's wedding; to all those arguments he laid on me like blows I could not dodge. That you should have a Mortal husband, one who could give you home and hearth, who could grow old beside you..." He twisted in the chair, laying his cheek along her waiting hand. "And I cannot help but wonder; was he right?"

"Oh, beloved." She slid both arms about his neck, hugged him: then moved around to kneel in front of him on the hearthrug, taking both his hands again in hers.

"Shall I tell you, my love, where I would be now if things had fallen out differently - if we had never found one another? Do you think I did not ask it of myself, all that year we were parted after the end of the War, when I tried Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth and Rohan, and could not find anywhere I felt I belonged?" She took a breath, gathering her thoughts, as a log shifted in the fire and a shower of sparks went up.

"I could be back in the Riddermark; back on the farmstead with Aelstan, yes, with my work and my beasts, but constantly itching to put right the likes of Gytha with their nonsense about Elven witches in the Golden Wood; chafing because no-one seemed to understand why I felt bereft at the news that the Firstborn are taking ship, or constantly wanted to talk about Rivendell or Hobbits or Dwarves or Elves, and wondering at the unhappiness I could never quite name. I could be fending off Béodred, or any other good solid Rohir who wanted to make me his wife, and who wouldn't understand that I could not and would not sit quiet by a hearth, darning shirts or feeding and washing children! Or even worse, I could have given in and married one of them – or any one of those courteous, worthy, naval types from Dol Amroth or a stuffed-doublet nobleman of the White City – and be going half-mad with frustration at having shut myself into a gilded cage and thrown away the key!" She gripped his hands tighter.

"Elrohir, and Béodred, and all the others were convinced I was out of my mind to want to walk this path, because they all thought they knew what was good for me – and for you. How many of your folk thought – whether or not they would say so to your face – that a few brief years of loving a Mortal woman, however brightly that flame burned, could never be enough to sustain you through the rest of Arda's Ages? I asked that a thousand times myself! Were _they_ right?"

He shook his head vehemently. "No, _melethen._ You know it."

"Neither of us would ever have dreamed we would be as we are," she said more softly. "But be it through the Powers or the simple chances of this world – our hearts found one another, and knew themselves complete. We took this path, beloved, and no other, and even could it be undone, I would never do it at any price."

"Nor I, I swear it." He slid from the chair on to the rug beside her, wrapping her tightly in his arms, sealing the promise with a kiss. "Nor I."

~~~

Morning, as promised, found the Peredhil with Legolas out on Dor Ararych's exercise-ground, watched by excited little knots of murmuring stable-boys. Since it was habitually used for lungeing the young stock, the packed earth was regularly swept free of loose stones and other hazards; Elladan, nonetheless, inspected it minutely while Elrohir and Legolas hefted the various practice blades, testing weight and grip and balance till each found one to his satisfaction. They wore their leather jerkins, bracers and greaves – even practice blades, Rowanna knew, would bruise badly if either landed a blow – but no helms: "Neck-down only?" Elrohir enquired, and Legolas nodded agreement.

They warmed up for a few minutes, Legolas with Elladan and Elrohir with a somewhat overawed Angbrannon; then each nodded to their opposite number, and the ground was swiftly cleared. Elladan came to lean against the fence alongside Rowanna, watching closely. Elf and Peredhel walked to the centre of the ring, the wind whipping at their tunics and braided hair; suddenly, the tension in their stance made Rowanna shiver. She took a deep breath as the pair bowed, hands on hearts, to one another and took guard.

"Lay on!" called Elladan. For a few moments Elrohir and Legolas circled each other, neither rushing into the combat, watching intently; then out of nowhere a flurry of blows exploded, and the fight began.

Not since her months in Rivendell had Rowanna seen an Elven sword-bout – the Wood-elves of Ithilien practised with knife and bow – and she had forgotten just how impossibly fast it would be, a blur of movement she could barely follow. The pair flowed first away from the watchers at the fence, then back towards them; for an instant, Rowanna caught the expression in Elrohir's eyes as he struck at Legolas like summer lightning, and could not suppress a gasp.

"He – he is in earnest!"

"Entirely in earnest," Elladan murmured in her ear. "Though not, I think, in _deadly _earnest." Seeing Rowanna's horrified expression, he added hastily, "They truly are using blunted blades, you know... I checked."

"But _why?_" Rowanna whispered. "You're not truly telling me he – is _jealous _of Legolas? I was always sure he was just offended that I had given my heart away, and to one of the Firstborn at that, over all his warnings and objections!"

"He has something to prove to himself, I think," Elladan said softly, without taking his eyes from the pair on the field. "Not that he should have called Legolas to account that day – what, are we mortals, to draw sword over a woman's affections? No; rather that he did not forswear the fight out of fear."

"How could he possibly think so?" Rowanna hissed, watching Legolas parry, duck, weave, counter-attack. "You two must be two of the most renowned warriors in Middle-earth, even by Elven standards!"

"Ah, but we are not Elves, we are Peredhil," Elladan murmured back, as the two blades locked once more. "Neither human nor wholly Quendi. Perhaps that causes us, at our very core, to be just a little unsure of who – what – we are. Some, Father among them, might say that is what has always driven the pair of us to feats fabled among Elves and Men; to prove ourselves worthy of either..."

A furious volley of thrust and counter-thrust ended with Legolas twisting neatly away from Elrohir's blade, and for a moment the two broke apart, breathing hard. _We don't exist_, Rowanna realised; _the entire farm could go up in flames around them and they wouldn't blink._

"Will he win?"

"He ought to," his brother said judiciously. "Legolas could disarm just about any Mortal inside a minute, I grant you, except perhaps Estel – and stars know, he's quick on his feet and I swear he can see behind him – but this isn't his first-choice weapon, nor even his second. Elrohir's barely gone a day without sword in hand for five centuries..."

Moments later, he was proven right: Elrohir feinted, twisted under Legolas' guard, there was a flash of movement –

– and a collective gasp as Legolas' blade flew across the yard and Elrohir's sword-point stopped at his throat.

For a long moment, only the wind whipped round them as the watchers held their breath. _Blunted blades, _Rowanna reminded herself. _Blunted blades..._

Elrohir dropped one word clearly into the deathly quiet.

"Yield?"

Legolas hesitated for an instant; then Rowanna, heart in mouth, felt the warrior's guard drop away from him like a discarded mail-shirt, and slowly he smiled.

"I yield."

He bowed gracefully to the Peredhel and strolled across the scuffed earth to retrieve his sword; then, loping to the fence, vaulted it one-handed and passed the blade to the waiting Angbrannon. As Elrohir strode back to the gate, Legolas slid his arm around Rowanna's waist, drew her close and kissed her.

"Thank you, Elrohir, my friend," he proclaimed enthusiastically, "a win well-deserved."

_Behave yourself!_ Rowanna warned. _Even if it __**is **__Elrohir – do not tease! _One of Malgalad's lads offered the combatants water-skins, which they accepted, and towels, which neither appeared to need.

_Elves_, thought Rowanna; _they both went at that as though their lives depended on it, and yet to look at them now you wouldn't think either had broken sweat!_

"Will you take a turn, Elladan?" Legolas offered.

"I fought yesterday," Elladan reminded him, "I'll hold off till we shoot this afternoon. Though if Master Angbrannon would care to spar some time while we are here, 'twould be my honour to practise with him." Angbrannon flushed, seemingly caught between delight and dread at the prospect.

"I have a couple of mares in foal to check on in the fields before the noon-meal," Rowanna announced. "Legolas, once you're out of your gear, you wanted Elladan and Angbrannon to look at those new knives your smith's been forging?" _You do now!_

The Elf, deftly unlacing his bracers, did not miss a beat. "Of course, I remember. Elladan, shall we?..." They wandered away in the direction of the smithy, leaving Rowanna with Elrohir as the stable-boys reluctantly dispersed to the rather less exciting chores of feeding and mucking out.

"So are you going to give me the tour of your domain, _rohiril?_" the Peredhel enquired as he shrugged out of his heavy jerkin. "Show me what the Prince of Ithilien's Mistress of Horse has been up to?"

"Gladly." They strolled out to the pastures, where the breeze was running in waves through the grass, and for an hour or so talked of bloodlines and breeding, foaling and training. Only as the sun was nearing noon, and they were making a fuss of a group of colts who had come nosing hopefully up in search of treats, did Rowanna turn and ask:

"So what was that all about, then?" As Elrohir gazed innocently back at her she added, "You know perfectly well. This morning."

Elrohir said nothing for a moment, scratching a normally-boisterous chestnut between the ears so that the horse relaxed happily into his touch.

"I thought that bout would put all to rest," he said eventually. "But now, I find, it does not answer, for I was asking the wrong question… Ever since that Midsummer's Eve – you knew I went to find Legolas, as I swore I would, that night? That I charged him, as I had begged you, to think again?" She nodded. "It wore and wore away at me, once I heard that after all you had chosen, in the end, to bind yourselves – should I have challenged him? Why did I not?" He looked away, caressing the horse's flank.

"So I beat him... and it turns out it makes no difference. He still wins."

"I am not a _prize_ in some kind of contest, Elrohir!" Rowanna's voice rose, causing the chestnut to huff indignantly and sidestep. "When will you get it through your apparently dense Peredhel head that I have some say in the matter? You never wanted my heart in any case!"

"No," Elrohir said with devastating frankness. "But I did not lie, Rowanna, that last night out from Minas Tirith when I called you both kin and friend. I wanted your happiness. And I could not see, and still am not convinced, how Legolas Thranduilion could stand surety for it." He gently pushed away the nose of another colt who was lipping at his pocket. "Tell me, truly – is this what you wanted?"

"Which part?" Rowanna demanded, throwing wide an arm which encompassed the pastures, the horses, the low cluster of stables and dwellings. "My own herds and farm and lands, held in the trust of the Steward whom I am honoured to serve? My life to make my own, unfettered by the expectations of Gondor or Rohan? All that, I wanted, all my life, and there were times when I couldn't see how it was ever to be done. As for Legolas..." She lifted her chin and met Elrohir's gaze.

"I could never have said that I _wanted _the love of an Elf – how could I ever have imagined such a thing? Neither of us ever drew bow at the other; the Quest and the War tangled our paths together, and we'd each given our heart long before we realised it, I think. But I do not love him because he is Firstborn – nor despite his being Firstborn! I love him because he is Legolas, and he loves me, entirely as I am and not as any other would have me be. He is the other half of my heart, and I will never lose that, not even if he sails over Sea in my lifetime. And even if he took ship tomorrow –" she gulped, but took a deep inbreath – "that would be enough."

Elrohir gazed at her steadily.

"It's true, isn't it?" he said softly. "_Rohiril,_ you have never ceased to surprise me, from the morning you first woke in our care in Imladris. And I really should have learnt by now not to underestimate you..."

He held out his arms; without hesitation, she walked into them and hugged him tightly.

"For a being the best part of an Age old, Elrohir Elrondion, sometimes you are a _fool_."

After the noon-meal back at the house, the wind had dropped as Legolas had predicted, and they went out to an empty paddock for a shooting-match. Watched by Bron, Maegened and several of the other lads with their eyes popping from their heads, Legolas beat first Elladan, and then Elrohir, convincingly. Rowanna arrived from the fields just in time to see Legolas split Elrohir's last arrow in mid-air; and then the four of them wandered laughing back to the house as the sun was going down.

~~~

The Twins spent another fortnight in Ithilien; part of it at Dor Ararych, part among the Wood-Elves of Legolas' growing colony, or journeying with him around the lands he and his folk were attempting to cleanse and replant.

"He's got work there for at least a lifetime of Men," Elrohir observed to Rowanna on their last morning, as he and Elladan prepared to mount up for the ride back to Minas Tirith. "And from what we hear from Thranduil's halls, no shortage of his father's folk still contemplating coming south to join him – there will be more _telain_ built in that forest yet!"

"He swore to Yavanna herself that he would make the Orcs' ravages good," Rowanna agreed. "With all of that, and planning and planting gardens for Aragorn in the White City, and coming back and forth to Dor Ararych, every season is more than full!... And he's happy."

"So I've seen." Elrohir took her by the hands. "And so, I've also seen, are you – and my heart is the lighter for it." He smiled ruefully as Rowanna raised an eyebrow at him. "Truly."

"And for the knowledge that you could best him in a fair fight?"

He chuckled. "That too. A sword-fight, at least. And the other fight I thought I'd lost... turned out not to be one at all."

They embraced; he turned away, not bothering with the mounting-block, and vaulted onto Elin's back. Elladan too hugged her, mounted up, and leant down from the saddle to clasp arms with Legolas.

"Till the next time, my friends. Good fortune, and the Powers speed all your labours!"

"Go safely," Rowanna and Legolas echoed in unison. They stood side by side, an arm raised each in farewell, until the Peredhil vanished among the trees. Rowanna turned to Legolas.

"Come, then, _meleth nin_. Work to do."

~~~~~~~

The various references this story makes to Legolas and Rowanna's backstory are told in my longer story _Amid the Powers and Chances of the World_. In the order in which they come up in the present story:

"two nights before Aragorn and Arwen's wedding" in Chapter 42, _Until the Stars are All Alight_;  
>Elrohir's confrontation with Legolas the following night in Chapter 43, <em>Wake and Hear Me Calling<em>;  
>Rowanna's time in Rivendell in Chapters 1-16, particularly Beodred's jealousy of Elrohir in Chapter 4, <em>I'll Linger Here, Beneath the Sun<em>;  
>"that time with Caradhras and the saddle" in Chapter 14, <em>The Horse and the Rider<em>;  
>Rowanna and Legolas' meeting in Edoras in Chapter 23, <em>Farewell we Call to Hearth and Hall<em>; and the year they were parted immediately after the War, in Chapters 45 and 46.


	5. Summer Heat

_Ithilien, Fourth Age_

A week off Midsummer, and Ithilien was slowly roasting under flawless blue skies. Rowanna had been hard at work, watching over foalings, for several nights running; yet it was hard to catch up on sleep during the sweltering days, and along with the rest of Dôr Ararych she grew increasingly sticky and tetchy.

At last, with no more mares due to foal for a few days, came respite – from responsibility, if not from the heat. Legolas appeared one morning out of the trees, after a fortnight or more's absence, and set about persuading Rowanna to play truant.

Despite her reluctance, he had allies; her head groom and stable-lad were both adamant that with the herds drowsing in the shade and all quiet, she could easily be spared till nightfall and, should she wish, beyond. And so the two of them gathered together a few provisions, water and a flask of wine, and left Dôr Ararych behind.

They wandered for hours deep into the wilderness of Ithilien's woods, guided by Legolas's infallible sense of the shape of the lands he tended, over streams and around fallen trees. As they brushed through thickets the smells of sage and lavender rose up in waves around them; the only sounds were the rhythmic sawing of the crickets and the occasional cries of birds. As they reached another stand of holm-oaks the Elf paused, listened, breathed.

"Yes, I thought so – come, _melethen_, down this way –" He took her hand, and led her through the trees, down a slope; the air was suddenly cooler, damper –

"Greener." He finished her thought. "The good green smell of earth! It has been nearly baked out of the land these last long, hot days – but not down here; see..."

They were dropping into a little ravine, into shade, with green grass now beneath their feet; once or twice Rowanna nearly slipped or slid on the steep slope, but always Legolas was ready and steadied her. She could hear, could smell, running water... and then the ground eased out into a tiny, hidden valley, its sides steep rock hung with curtains of moss, the trees above leaning over to provide dappled shadow. At the ravine's head a stream tumbled from the cliff above them into a deep, clear pool.

Rowanna let out a long, relieved breath she had not known she was holding, and felt days of crotchety tension falling from her shoulders.

"It's _wonderful_. How did you know it was here?"

"I remembered coming across that stream further up its course," Legolas said as he dropped his pack of provisions from his shoulder, and carefully laid bow and quiver against a rock, "and I could feel the land dropping away south and east of us as we walked; so I guessed there might be something like this." His eyes danced as Rowanna eagerly pulled her boots off and let the long, cool grass caress her bare feet. "Is that better?"

"I can't begin to tell you how much better," Rowanna agreed. She wandered the length of the little greensward, looking curiously upwards. "From above, you'd hardly know it was here!"

"Elven eyes would pick it out," Legolas assured her. "But would pay it no particular attention unless they were especially seeking somewhere cool – and secluded..." He arched one eyebrow very slightly, and Rowanna felt a tingling answer somewhere deep in the centre of her.

They sat on the rocks, dangling their feet in the water, to munch their bread, cheese and apples, passing the flask of wine between them. "Look how clear the water is," Rowanna mused. She dropped a pebble in and watched it fall. "Yes, see, it must be a good six feet deep, yet it only looks a fraction of that. I might have to bathe when we've eaten..."

When Legolas wandered off to inspect the ferns and mosses more closely, however, she found herself far more inclined to stretch out on the rock and close her eyes. She was drifting away, lulled by the warmth and the rushing of the stream, when a laughing voice enquired:

"I thought you were going to bathe, idle one?"

"In a bit..." Then she gasped as a spatter of cool droplets hit her. "_Hey!_" Instantly awake, she reached down to the pool and splashed vigorously in Legolas' direction – receiving retribution in the form of a mock-wrestling match which ended, moments later, with her lover rolling them both off the rock and into the pool.

"Arghhh! You – _you_ –" Too breathless in the icy water to shriek, she could only splutter indignantly and attempt to duck the Elf, who was of course far too swift and too lithe in the water for her to get near him. He dived instead to the bottom of the pool, and came up holding a small stone; blue-green, perfectly round, with wavy lines of a darker blue shot through it.

"A peace-offering, _melethen..._"

"You _impossible_ Elf," Rowanna grumbled, taking the pebble and hauling herself out onto the bank, her long dark hair streaming with water. "If we were going in, we might at least have got undressed first!"

His eyebrow arched again. "We can do that now..."

In one graceful movement he pushed himself up onto the rock, then began peeling off the sodden silk shirt which clung to his chest and shoulders. Rowanna reached to stop him. "_I'll_ do that..."

She took her time about it, relishing the sight of the droplets of water gleaming on his golden skin, the muscles shifting beneath; her breath came out in one gusty sigh. "I haven't looked at you like this for _weeks_..."

"I told you it was high time you played truant." Legolas unlaced her shirt and unpeeled it from her skin in turn, followed by her breeches and his leggings.

"Those'll dry, spread out on the rock," Rowanna pointed out. "Though it might take a little while..."

"Then," Legolas murmured, stretching out on the lush carpet of grass and drawing her down beside him, "we'll just have to find some way to spend the time, won't we?"

It was, after all, she thought, far too hot a day to do anything quickly. Lazily, they kissed; slowly, his damp hair trailing over her skin, Legolas worked his way all over her body, easing the tension of the preceding days out of her with lips and hands and tongue. Turn and turn about they took pleasure in one another, neither in any hurry to come to a peak.

"How long... can you keep that up?" Rowanna asked hoarsely, as Legolas steadily stroked a particularly sensitive spot, letting her ride the slowly rising current of desire.

"As long as you want me to, _melethen_."

Longer than she would ever have thought possible. And later again, and again; while between-times she did the same for him, unable to keep from smiling when he arched and cried out and his clear blue eyes went very, very dark...

At last, sated, they lay back in the shade and she slept; later, they swam again, floating on the pool's surface, then diving to feel the water's cool caress on their skin. Only when the stars were beginning to emerge into the deep blue above them, and owls were calling across the thickets, did they pull their crumpled clothes back on, take one last deep breath of the cool green scent of the grass, and climb reluctantly back out of the ravine.

"That," Rowanna sighed regretfully as they emerged, feeling the heat rising around them once again from the baked earth, "was _perfect_." She turned the little blue-green pebble over in her fingers.

"We can return," Legolas assured her, twining his fingers with hers and tilting her face up to kiss her. "In fact, _rohiril_, if I hear any further reports that you have been working yourself into the ground in this heat, most assuredly we _will_ be returning..."

And over the course of that and many more Ithilien summers, return they did.

...

With many thanks to Curiouswombat, as ever, for beta.


	6. Seizing the Day

**Seizing the Day**

Summer, Fourth Age 10, Gondor

It was too warm for _Nárië_; or so the folk of Minas Tirith grumbled, as the City's white stone threw blinding light at them in the afternoons and held the heat long into the night. On the evening when the Steward of Gondor dined privately with the King Elessar and Prince Legolas of Eryn Edhellen, every window in the house was thrown open in the vain hope of catching a breeze; and the cook had sighed with relief on hearing that a cold collation, with plenty of fruit and the best wine, was all that would be required.

"So there you have it." Once the servants had cleared the supper-dishes from his sitting-room, Faramir steepled his fingers and looked from Aragorn, leaning back in a deep armchair with his pipestem in his teeth, to Legolas balancing easily along the narrow back of a wooden settle. "Officially we are neutral towards Rhûn, as we have been since they sued for peace at the end of the Ring War; but if these rumours from our agents east of Mordor are true, the Easterling clans are increasingly divided. Rhûn has had a run of bad harvests; their druids blame the fall of their overlord Sauron, whose bounty it was, they say, that gave them rainfall, and labour – enslaved, presumably – to till the fields. Some of the clan-chiefs, it seems, argue that with the one they worshipped gone, they can expect no better and must shape themselves to a new world; but others protest that their troubles are all due to Gondor, the dread enemy who brought down their Lord, and that only by taking arms once more against us can they end them..."

"Yet we have a peace-treaty signed and sealed," Aragorn observed. "Were they to be the ones to break it, they risk bringing down not only Gondor but all our sworn allies on their heads –"

"And it seems that for the time being, at least, their Great-chief – Balharric – intends to hold by it," Faramir agreed. "But his power's precarious, from what we hear; the murmur is that some of the chieftains talk of bringing men westwards. They've made no move yet; but they may reckon on goading us into an attack, something that would force Balharric's hand against us in response. And then, two days ago, Mablung up at Henneth Annûn mentioned something odd in his dispatch – one or two of the new settlements out in the Nindalf have had trouble at night; heard bands of horsemen passing, lost animals or had crops trampled. And the hoofmarks came from, and led back, out East..."

"Ithilien?" Legolas asked quickly.

"I do not think there is any cause for concern, not yet." The Steward frowned. "Though when Mablung's report was discussed at Council yesterday, my lord Harlang did enquire 'whether I would be _permitting_ my wife to spend the summer outside the City as usual' ...I managed to keep a straight face, I think." He smiled wryly. "Éowyn and I discussed it at length, and there seems nothing to justify distressing and worrying the children by keeping them here, making them think Emyn Arnen less than the haven they've always believed it. I'm increasing Mablung's count of Rangers by half, and the guards at Emyn Arnen have been briefed, but Éowyn and the children will be leaving in a few days as planned." He mopped his brow, casting a wistful glance out towards the summer night. "And I hope to join them as often as possible, I admit! But my lord King and I wanted you to know –" Aragorn nodded agreement, "– since both Eryn Edhellen and Dôr Ararych are well-placed, along with Henneth Annûn, to pick up any hint of unusual movements from the Ered Lithui or the Brown Lands..."

"We'll be watchful," Legolas promised. "And if anything stirs to give us concern, you shall have word."

"And so to more pleasant business," suggested Aragorn, reaching for the decanter of wine at his elbow. "You were down on the Fourth Circle most of the day – how are the herb-gardens there coming along?..."

...

Rowanna grinned as she crossed the pasture to check on the water-troughs, keeping an eye out for the leather ball flying to and fro; released for the remainder of the afternoon, with their chores and lessons done, the grooms' children and the younger stable-boys were making the most of the fine weather.

"Come _on_, Carannith!" one of the older boys protested as the eight-year-old fumbled yet another catch.

"You throw too hard!" Carannith's lip trembled. "It's more fun playing with Elboron. When is he coming?" he appealed to Rowanna.

"I haven't heard from Emyn Arnen yet," Rowanna soothed him. "Lady Éowyn and the children were due from the City a day or two ago, though, and you know Elboron – I'm sure he will be up here as soon as his mother will let him!"

As predicted, two days later the Steward's eldest, accompanied by his mother and a discreetly armed escort, rode into the Dôr Ararych stable-yard eager to show Rowanna his new pony, to climb trees with the other children, and to follow at the heels of the head stable-lad, seventeen-year-old Bron, as often as the patient older boy would let him.

"You're sure he'll not be a nuisance?" Éowyn asked. "I've told him, he's not to presume on his position to think he can come and plague you whenever he likes..."

"He's never any trouble," Rowanna assured her, "at least no more than any of the other imps, and less than most! Bron only has to look his way and he falls into line."

"Boys are often like that with their elders – Éomer was with Théodred, for years, and Elboron's the same," Éowyn agreed. "Ever since Elboron was little and called himself 'Bron too – your Bron was the only person he'd ever met who he thought shared his name!"

"And the lads here still call them 'big Bron and little 'Bron," Rowanna laughed. "Though that might not hold true for more than another year or two – Elboron is shooting up, isn't he? Are all ten-year-olds in Gondor that tall?"

"He's taking after his father. And your Bron – well..."

"Is a slip of a thing," Rowanna agreed ruefully. "When you think how he was when we first took him in – half-starved by that enslaving so-called 'uncle' of his – it's no surprise, really; we did our best to feed him up, but he'll always be more Halfling than Man-sized. Still – as he says himself, he'll never be too heavy to mount anything in the stables! Which reminds me, Elboron wanted to see yesterday's foal; come over with us..."

...

The long summer days wore contentedly away; the sun blazed down, occasional dramatic night-time thunderstorms provided enough rain to keep the meadows green, and the children were outside from dawn till dusk, their faces deep brown and their breeches perpetually grass-stained. Elboron eventually went reluctantly back to Emyn Arnen, promising Carannith that he'd be back at least once more before summer's end. The horses drowsed in the shade, flicking their ears at the flies, and all Ithilien seemed half-asleep.

Legolas, though, was uneasy. Nothing definite enough to draw bow at: so far, at least, his folk had found no trace of strangers' passage as they roamed the woods; but every so often, high in the woodland canopy, his scalp prickled. He increased the patrols around Eryn Edhellen; and took, himself, to spending more time in and around Dôr Ararych. He and Falastir were up in a cedar one warm day, discussing the latest dispatch sent south by Celeborn from East Lórien, when

Legolas' head suddenly went up and he sniffed the wind.

"What?" Falastir was alert at once.

"Over that way, north-eastward..." Legolas strung his bow, swung his quiver on to his back and began to slide noiselessly down the trunk. Falastir followed, giving the high clear bird-call that would draw all the other Elves within earshot to them; and then, as the distant laughter and calls of the stable-boys from the fields down by the river became yells and screams, they began to run.

Rowanna was on her way down to the meadow, with Malgalad the head groom; the younger boys were again playing ball, protesting "Bron! _Bron..._" when the older lad warned them away from the pregnant mares. Then, over the boys' shouts, they heard the drumming of galloping hooves and the screams. They, too, broke into a run; Rowanna pulled her sling and stones from her pocket and got off several shots at the approaching horsemen. One hit home, earning her an incomprehensible curse in return; she was dimly aware of one rider raising something in front of him, and of a sharp sting a moment later across her cheek. The leader reached down from the saddle, swept a struggling figure up in front of him...

Just too late, the Elves sprinted out of the trees; arrows flew after the riders, but they were already vanishing into the woods below the meadow. Some of the stable-boys were running in pursuit, till Malgalad's bellow called them back; the youngest were shaking in shock, one or two in tears. Rowanna slowly put one hand up to her stinging cheek, and brought it away bloody.

"They – they took him!" Carannith sobbed out. "I don't understand – why him? Why just him? They took Bron!"

"Bron..." For a moment Rowanna stood baffled; then in one cold moment of certainty, it dropped into place. Faramir's concern – the rumours of renegade Rhûn horsemen raiding the Nindalf to the north, trying to provoke retaliation; Mablung's warning – She turned in horror to Legolas.

"Bron... _Elboron._ He was here till yesterday, they must have been watching, or spied on Emyn Arnen. Both of them are dark-haired, and these days they almost match in height, and those riders must have heard the lads shouting Bron's name... They think they have Elboron."

Legolas' jaw set. "Malgalad, arm everyone you can; get the children inside. That may not be the only band of them around. We're going after them – in the forest they can't make great speed; among the trees Elves can track as fast as they can move." He turned to Rowanna. She was trembling, and wanted, at that moment, nothing more than to be folded in his arms; but then she saw his eyes glitter, cold and hard, and realised _This is the warrior, not the lover._ Now he had only one thought; to pursue those who had done this either to capture, or to death... His practised gaze flickered for a moment over her face.

"Get that arrow-graze cleaned – it might be poisoned; but it isn't deep. Send the swiftest rider you have down to Emyn Arnen to warn them. But tell whoever goes to be watchful, it may be dangerous –"

"Bron will tell them he isn't Elboron!" one of the boys burst out. "Won't he?"

"Not if he has any sense," Legolas said grimly, and Rowanna caught her breath; _if they want a hostage, they'll guard a boy they think is the Steward's son well; but an Ithilien stable-lad they'll kill out of hand and cast aside before he slows them down..._

"And if they find out... and come back?"

"Then they'll find us in their way," the Elven-prince responded with a glance at Falastir. "And they will not get past us – that I promise you." Without another word, the little group of Elves turned and ran for the trees.

Rowanna took one deep, shuddering breath.

"All right. Is anyone else hurt? Good. Rostavron –" she turned to the oldest remaining lad, "– take the others back to the house, please; Malgalad needs to rout out Angbrannon and get everyone armed who can wield bow or blade. On your way, get someone to saddle Talagor for me, while I find Faeldis and get her to see to my cheek..."

"_You're_ going?" Malgalad raised an eyebrow as they hurried back towards the low cluster of buildings.

"You're the one who knows how to order a defence, not I," Rowanna reminded him in tones that brooked no argument, "and you heard Legolas. 'The swiftest rider you have'."

Back at the house she submitted as patiently as she could manage to Faeldis's quick but careful cleaning of her graze with witch-hazel, while one of the boys ran for her pack, her grey Elven cloak, and a knife to wear at her belt. Back in the yard, she mounted up and looked down at the huddled stable-lads.

"Do _exactly_ as Malgalad tells you. He fought the Easterlings back in the Ring War, defended Osgiliath; he knows what he's doing. Those riders won't come back – Legolas and the Elves will make sure of that – but be ready, anyway. I'll be back tomorrow, or else I'll send word. And don't worry – Bron will soon be home, safe and sound."

_Powers_, she thought as she spurred Talagor away from the yard and turned his head southward, _let it be true!_

_..._

Bron fought to keep his breathing steady, bumping up and down uncomfortably on an unfamiliar saddle, as the raiders rode through the woodland as swiftly as they dared. In the confusion before he was snatched he had noted the short bows they all carried, and the wicked blades at their belts; even had he not been blindfolded and his hands tied in front of him, so that his captor had to hold him in the saddle, he would have had little appetite for taking them on. He was trying to subdue his panic, thinking furiously. Though these strange bearded Men's Westron was heavily accented, he had caught words here and there, and had swiftly come to the same conclusion as Rowanna had. _They think they've kidnapped Elboron!_

_In which case, let 'em go on thinking so_, he'd quickly realised. _If they snatched you instead of slitting your throat, that means Elboron's worth something to them alive. Soon as they find out their mistake, you're so much dead baggage – and what if they go back for the real thing?_ He gritted his teeth. _Elboron's only a kid. Keep them fooled, as long as you can..._ His heart sank. _All the way to... wherever this lot came from? They don't look like Southrons, and unless we've turned since they made a run for it out of the clearing_ – under his blindfold, it was hard to tell – _we're heading northwards. Into Mordor?_ His heart hammered in his chest; dead land it might be, the Dark Lord long gone, but it was still a place of nightmare...

_What would Elboron do?_ he wondered. _Or more to the point, what would this bunch __**expect**__ a ten-year-old boy to do?_ In reality, he thought, he would not put it past the Steward's son to try some hopelessly heroic stunt like throwing himself from the horse; but sitting tight, and emitting an occasional scared sniffle, seemed more convincing as well as, frankly, more manageable. _Maybe, if I stay on the alert, there'll be a chance later; if we stop – they don't know these woods... _He tried to slow his breathing down, and to listen for every small sound over the impossibly loud pounding of his heart.

...

Rowanna urged Talagor as swiftly as she dared through the woodland, glad that this was familiar ground for her sure-footed mount. Even so, with time of the essence, it was impossible to keep silent; leaves rustled and twigs snapped beneath Talagor's hooves, and they startled one bird after another from the bushes around. _Which is more important – to be quick or to stay out of sight?_ she wondered. Legolas had urged speed; _but if they had a second band planning to attack Emyn Arnen as well, to seize Éowyn or another of the children, wouldn't they have done that at the same time – in which case I'm already too late?_ She swallowed hard on the thought. _Whereas if they just want to stop news reaching Emyn Arnen or the White City, to delay pursuit as long as they can, they'll be waiting on the way..._

There was a well-ridden path between Emyn Arnen and Dôr Ararych, worn smooth and broad by frequent use, and that was without question the swiftest way – but also the obvious one. Taking a deep breath and hoping she made the right choice, Rowanna nudged Talagor off the wide greenway and into the deeper woodland to their right, ducking and weaving between the overhanging branches.

A league or so later, with the sun beginning to sink through the trees, her decision was suddenly justified – a sharp whistling noise, a rush of air and the _thwack_ of an arrow into the nearest tree-trunk. Throwing caution to the winds, she spurred Talagor forwards – and several burly, bearded Easterlings galloped out of the trees to her left, _watching the main path, where we would have been! _Their short bows got off more shots, but they had the low sun in their eyes, her fractured silhouette was mingled with tree-shadow, and perhaps the grey cloak of Galadriel was still able to work a little magic; their arrows went wide and the leader's horse stumbled. Cursing, he threw himself from the saddle and dived into her path, reaching for her stirrup; without time to think she dug in her heels, Talagor gathered himself and jumped –

They were clear, and she pulled her mount back to the broad greenway and threw caution to the winds; _they know where we are now! Come on, Talagor!_

He was the fastest horse Dôr Ararych had, and he did her proud; easily outstripping the Rhûn-folk's smaller, stockier beasts, remembering exactly where there was a stream to be jumped or a boulder to swerve around. More arrows came after them, but all fell short; risking a glance back over her shoulder a little later, Rowanna could neither see nor hear any trace of pursuit. _They must have scouted the land out beforehand; they know we're close to Faramir's guards..._

For now the ground was beginning to rise to the familiar, comforting shape of Emyn Arnen's gently rounded hills, the woods thinning out a little. At last, with a great gasp of relief, Rowanna reined in as one of the estate's sentries stepped on to the path twenty yards ahead and signalled for her to halt.

...

Bron had only a hazy idea how long they had been riding; under his blindfold it was perpetually dark, but he could hear the calling and clatter of birds going to roost, and thought night might be close to falling. From the sound of the hoof-beats, the horses had slowed and strung out in single file; they must have reached one of the narrow stretches where the northbound road passed through a defile. _Up towards Henneth Annûn; maybe the Rangers will – _

He felt, rather than heard, a thud; suddenly his captor's grip went slack, and there was a slithering sound as the heavy physical presence behind him vanished. Bron gripped frantically with his knees as their mount sidestepped and huffed violently; he threw himself forward and managed to grab the horse's mane with his bound hands, then slid inelegantly out of the saddle into a heap on the ground. Struggling to shift his tight blindfold, he huddled into the grassy bank as more thumps and whinnies came from all around him; then a lilting voice said softly "_Na maer, Bron?"_ and deft hands swiftly worked the bandage loose from his eyes and helped him to his feet.

He blinked for a moment, disorientated. Several Wood-elves were moving to catch and quiet the frightened horses; the Easterlings, or whatever they were, lay sprawled along the path, each neatly pierced by one arrow – except the one at the head of the line, who was breathing hard with an Elven blade pressed to his throat. And in front of Bron, smiling, stood Legolas.

...

"Who goes there?"

Though the words were Westron, Rowanna caught the rolling burr of a Rohan accent; realising this must be one of Éowyn's own housecarls, she lapsed with relief into Rohirric, the tongue of her childhood which still came readily at times of stress, forcing her panic down so that she could get out the essentials. The sentry drew in a breath; but nodded, signalled for her to follow him and raced for the house, calling for reinforcements as he went.

Éowyn came out into the house's broad entrance-hall, careful to pull the door to behind her as soon as she caught the expression on her housecarl's face and saw Rowanna gasping for breath.

"Lady Éowyn – the children? Are they all here, all safe? Elboron?" Rowanna remembered just in time to lower her voice.

"All within with Frideswide, eating supper. What is it? What's amiss?"

Rowanna told her as swiftly as she might. Éowyn's eyes widened in shock for just a moment; but at once she took command. "Find me Cadman," she ordered, and the man nodded and vanished. Minutes later, her guard-captain joined them.

"Guard doubled all around the house, my lady; I've riders saddling up to go to the Steward and the King." He turned to Rowanna, who repeated once again what she knew.

"Do we try to get Elboron and Léof and Morwen out?" Éowyn asked tensely. "To Osgiliath?" Cadman shook his head.

"If you're asking me, my lady, I'd sit tight; moving's too risky. Till we and the Wood-elves and the Rangers can quarter every league between here and the Nindalf properly, we don't know for sure whether we've just got a few renegade Easterlings on our hands, or a whole troop spread out across half Ithilien. With the extra men my lord Faramir gave us, we can hold this place against anything but an army if we have to – and we need only get one errand-rider through to Osgiliath to bring the Steward, the King and half the Citadel Guard to us before tomorrow's out." He drummed his fingers on the doorframe, thinking. "And the house is all stone..."

"So they can't fire it," Éowyn nodded. "But the stables – we must get water-buckets everywhere, and make sure all the troughs are full." Her eyes flickered to the pair of swords in brackets over the hall-door. "Once the children are in bed I can join the watch..."

"If you'll forgive me, milady," Cadman warned, "we would, of course, be glad of your blade – but if Mistress Rowanna and Prince Legolas have guessed aright, these scum are out to make trouble for Gondor by striking at what the Steward holds most dear. If they went after Elboron and find they don't have him, how much better for them to seize the Princess of Ithilien? No sense in making their lives easier!"

Éowyn grimaced. "I grant you that. All right, Cadman, go to it. I'll get Frideswide to put up water-flasks and rations in the kitchens for each watch as they're relieved. Have your messengers tell Faramir –" she swallowed, "– that we are all well, and will keep the house safe and look to see him tomorrow as soon as may be. I must go and talk to the children – Rowanna, will you come with me?"

She gathered them around her as they finished supper, still licking traces of jam from around their mouths.

"Some bad men attacked Dôr Ararych," she told them gently. "No-one was badly hurt," _Treading carefully between truths!_ thought Rowanna, "and Legolas and the Elves will catch them; but in the meantime we need to be careful just in case. None of you is to go outside the house tonight, nor in the morning – not even to the stables – until we tell you it is safe. Elboron, I rely on you to watch over Morwen and Léof and help me – you can do that, can't you?"

Her firstborn nodded solemnly, wide-eyed. Morwen's lower lip wobbled. "I want Ada..."

"Ada will be here tomorrow," her mother said firmly. "So you must be a good girl now and go to bed, so that you're not tired and grumpy when he gets here, mustn't you? Come, I'll carry you up..."

Rowanna, suddenly realising she was ravenously hungry, went to beg her own supper from Frideswide; Éowyn put the children to bed herself and, along with the nursemaid, went from bedside to bedside till each was finally asleep. Only then did she slip softly back downstairs and take down her gleaming, well-honed blade from its place. She and Rowanna curled up in the Steward's sitting-room, with the lantern low and the shutters ajar so they could hear the slightest night-sounds from outside, and waited.

...

As Bron and his Elven escort rode into the yard on the captured horses, with the Easterling captain bound and blindfolded in his turn, initially all was silent – then Malgalad and half a dozen of the men rose from behind stable-doors and walls, bows and blades in hand, and there were cries of relief and light spilled from the house; Faeldis came running out to fuss over Bron and urge him to come to the kitchen for a bite to eat.

"All well?" Legolas enquired tersely of Malgalad. "No more trouble? No-one hurt?" He paused, then stiffened. "Where's Rowanna?"

Bron didn't hear Malgalad's reply; but he saw the colour drain from Legolas' face. "She did _what?_" The prince called something urgent in the Wood-elves' own lilting tongue and sprinted across the yard to lead out Ithalion, one of his favourite mounts, vaulting straight to the horse's back without saddle or bridle over Malgalad's protests. "Bron, go you and rest; Malgalad, keep the watch, I'll leave all my folk but Falastir here with you... _noro lim, Ithalion!"_

And with that, as Falastir nudged the Easterling horse in pursuit, he was gone.

...

Slowly the hours wore away in the long, white house sheltered by Emyn Arnen's hills. Rowanna and Éowyn murmured to one another now and again, going over everything Faramir had known or speculated about possible incursions from the East; Rowanna cudgelled her confused memories for every detail she could recall of the raid and the later attempt to ambush her. At every creak of a floorboard or whimper from the sleeping children, they sat bolt upright, straining to listen; and both leapt to their feet when, at last, through the open window they heard the clatter of hooves in the yard.

...

"_Ai pada?" _ The challenge came soft, but earnest, out of the dark.

"_Mellyn,"_ Legolas called, dismounting to clasp arms with the Ranger as they were recognised. "Ladros – are all safe within? Any sight or sound –?"

"Nothing. Word's gone to the Steward and the King, and the garrison at Osgiliath's putting out patrols."

"We sent riders up to Henneth Annûn –" Legolas put in quickly.

Ladros nodded in satisfaction. "Then not a gnat's moving in Ithilien tonight that we won't know about."

"Rowanna?" Legolas asked urgently. The Ranger clapped his hand to his forehead.

"Forgive me, I'm a fool – yes, she's here, inside with my lady Éowyn. Came flying down from Dôr Ararych with the news just before sundown as though Morgoth himself was on her heels. She says more tried to ambush her on her way south; no sign of those yet, but we'll find them –"

But Legolas was past him and calling for entrance at the great oak door, begging the guards within to hurry as they identified him and drew the heavy bolts: racing into the hallway, forgetting even courtesy to the White Lady as Éowyn ran out to greet him; for in her wake, white-faced but hale and whole, came Rowanna.

She threw herself into his arms; her relief flooded over him as his flowed out to her, mingled with concern –

"What were you _doing?_ I never meant for _you_ to come! When Malgalad told me – all the way from Dôr Ararych I thought, I feared –"

She stopped his protests with a swift, intense kiss. He drew back to look at her, tucking an escaping tendril of hair back behind her ear and running a finger gently under the graze he had so swiftly dismissed earlier; _they hurt you._ For a moment rage almost consumed him. _They tried to kill you, and then more of them tried again..._

_It's nothing._ He knew she could feel his fury and his fear; she held him tighter again, reassuring him, _I'm all right, everything here is well._ She had only one question:

"Bron?"

"We got him, unhurt, not a scratch on him. We shot the Easterlings, but we took their captain; I thought Faramir might want... some explanations. Taurlaegel and the others will keep him under guard tonight, and take him down to Osgiliath in the morning."

He felt the tension go out of her in a rush, and then he found he was holding her upright; suddenly overwhelmed with tenderness for her, he realised there were tears starting to her eyes.

"_Melethen,_ you're exhausted. My lady, your pardon –" at last he turned to acknowledge Éowyn, "– I blunder into your house like a lout, and now I must beg another boon of you. Rowanna needs to rest –"

"There's a room ready for you." Éowyn smiled, weary, understanding. "The usual one, at the eastern end of the hallway upstairs. And if Ladros will pass the word to Cadman that Legolas is here –" Ladros inclined his head, "– I think I may retire too. The children did drop off eventually, but I promised to sleep in Morwen's room..."

She turned to see Ladros out and the great front door barred once again behind him; without another word Legolas scooped Rowanna up into his arms and carried her, too weary to protest, up the stairs to their familiar guestroom. He seated her on the edge of the wide, canopied four-poster bed, pulled her boots off for her, and gently undressed her as though she were an overtired child. She sat passive under his hands, completely spent, and as soon as she was stripped to her shift she toppled sideways onto the pillows with her eyes already closing. He brushed the tumbled mass of dark hair back from her cheek and reached for her hand, twining his fingers with hers.

"Are you all right, _melethen_?"

"'M fine..." She was almost asleep, but he could not rest; his every nerve-ending still tingled.

"You risked your _life_. I never meant for you to come yourself –"

"_Our swiftest rider_, you said," Rowanna murmured. "Lady Éowyn, and Elboron, and the rest of the children were in grave danger if they weren't warned. And our swiftest rider... is me."

"I feared..." The words stuck in his throat.

"And so did I, beloved. Just as I did when you rode to war with Aragorn, when you went to the Black Gate... as I do every time the wind blows from the Sea." Her fingers tightened on his. "We know our days together are numbered, my love; we've always known."

It was true, and he had no answer for her other than to kick off his boots, pull his heavy leather jerkin over his head and lie down beside her as she sank into exhausted sleep, curling himself around every inch of her that he could. _I never want to leave you again, not for an instant..._ Yet that, he knew, would not answer. _She makes her own life and her own choices, and always has; and that was what I loved in her long before I even knew it. And she came to love me precisely because every Man she had ever known wanted to tell her what to do, to protect her, in the end to smother her, and I did not. _ He felt as though he were walking along the thinnest, most fragile of branches, knife-edged between safety and disaster, making him dizzy with terror and exhilaration at once. _The love of a Mortal. I chose it, after all... and were the choice to have again, I would make no other._ He took a long, steadying breath, reached to snuff the candle, and let himself be lulled in the darkness by the steady beat of Rowanna's heart.

...

Rowanna slept soundly long into the morning; through the dawn arrival of a troop of Rangers, through the message from Taurlaegel that all was well at the stud-farm, through the hasty later appearance of a grey-faced Faramir who looked, Legolas thought, as though he had been up half the night.

"I'm come from Osgiliath," he told Éowyn and Legolas over the heads of Morwen and Léof, who had clambered immediately into his lap, "and I can't stay long – I told Lorend I want to question the Rhûn captain myself, since you so thoughtfully provided him unscathed." He and Legolas exchanged looks of grim satisfaction. Clearly, the Elf realised, despite the urgency to interrogate him, the Easterling had to wait until the Steward had seen his family safe and sound for himself. Faramir gratefully drained the cup of Haradri coffee Frideswide set before him, and slipped an arm around Éowyn as she leant in to his shoulder. "But as soon as I'm done there, and our prisoner's been sent on to Aragorn, I shall be back. In time for supper, children, I hope –" he ruffled Léof's hair, "so if you are _very_ good for your mother today, perhaps she will allow you to stay up..."

"Can I come with you to Osgiliath, Father?" Elboron begged.

"Not this time," Faramir said firmly. "Your mother and I rely on you, you know, to help keep your brother and sister safe here until we are entirely sure there's not an Easterling left in Ithilien." Éowyn and Legolas nodded solemn agreement.

"And I want to see Rowanna," Faramir said privately to Legolas as he mounted up once again in the yard, the Elf leaning in close by his stirrup. "Éowyn and I owe her – and you – more than I have words for, _mellon nin_. From what Cadman tells me, she put herself at great risk –"

"Well do I know it," Legolas agreed ruefully. "And you and I both know that either of us urging her never to act so again would be entirely fruitless!"

"True enough," the Steward chuckled. "So my heartfelt thanks will have to suffice. Keep her here safe and sound, Legolas, at least until I can get back to deliver them to her in person!"

Once Faramir was out of sight, Legolas turned back into the house and strode down the hallway to the kitchens to exercise his most princely charm on Éowyn's cook. By the time he returned to their guestroom with a laden breakfast-tray, Rowanna was stirring.

"Awake, _rohiril_?" he said softly, leaning over to kiss her. "The morning is half gone!" He set the tray down on a side-table as Rowanna pushed herself blearily upright. "We're not yet certain that Ithilien is clear of Easterlings, though the Rangers have brought down that band who tried to ambush you last night, and Faramir and Aragorn have a set of... _interesting_ political problems to contend with, I fear; but Emyn Arnen is safe, word's come down from Malgalad that all's quiet at Dôr Ararych, and I have freshly-brewed coffee and hot rolls for you. And by the Steward's express instruction –" he quirked an eyebrow at her, "– you are not to stir from Emyn Arnen till he returns. In fact," he settled himself on the bed beside her, lifted the tangled dark hair from the nape of her neck and nuzzled his lips there, "if I have my way, milady, you will not be stirring from this _room_."

Rowanna settled back alongside him on the pillows. Sunlight and birdsong together poured in at the wide-open windows as they passed the mug of hot, sweet coffee and the sweet warm rolls between them. In his relief at having her safe beside him every scent, every sound, felt as heightened as if he walked in waking dream; Legolas wondered, yet again, at the unimagined intensity of experience, of sheer _living_, that Rowanna and her love had brought to him. _We have always known we will not have forever,_ he reflected as she let out a sigh of contentment beside him; _all the more reason, then, never to waste a day._

...

**Author's Notes:**_  
><em>

Easterlings/Men of Rhûn; "Rhûn was the Elvish word for 'east', and so the wide region known as 'Rhûn' covered a great range of eastern lands. Out of those lands came Easterlings, broadly known as Men of Rhûn, who belonged to many different cultures. All of those cultures, so far as is known, lived under the shadow of the Dark Lord." (Encyclopedia of Arda)

Eryn Edhellen – Elfswood, "the wood of the elves" (My imagined name for the Wood-elves' settlement in Ithilien; probably one given to it by the Men of Gondor rather than the Elves themselves, who might have been more likely to call it something like Eryn Ithil.)

Léof and Morwen are borrowed from Altariel's lovely Fourth Age Ithilien stories such as the _Garden of Gondor_ sequence.

_Nárië_ – late May to late June, Steward's Reckoning.

_Na maer, Bron?_ - All right, Bron? (literally, "is it good?")

_Ada_ - Daddy

_noro lim_ – run fast

_Ai pada?_ - Who goes there? (literally, "Who goes?")

_mellyn_ – friends

_mellonen/mellon nin_ – my friend

_melethen_ – my love

_rohiril_ – horse-lady (Legolas' nickname for Rowanna)


	7. The Turning of the Year

**The Turning of the Year**

Winter Solstice, Eryn Edhellen (Ithilien), Fourth Age

As the low winter sun gave up its struggle to stay above the horizon, and the trees around them filled with the chatter of birds going to roost, Legolas and Rowanna were up in their _talan_ preparing for that evening's feast. This year they had declined Aragorn's invitation to the _mettar__ë _ball in the Citadel of Minas Tirith; the Elves' colony in Eryn Edhellen had grown considerably that spring and summer, and plans had for a moon-round and more been afoot for the most substantial winter solstice celebrations the settlement had yet seen. Bonfires were already being lit, lanterns hung, and the spicy scent of great cauldrons of mulling wine drifted on the air. Rowanna had changed into her favourite deep-red velvet gown, and was brushing out her river of dark hair ready for Legolas, who loved to braid it and put it up.

He was looking out at the sunset colour as it faded from the winter sky, singing softly in the Grey Tongue in his sweet clear tenor:

_The holly and the ivy,_

_When they are both full grown,_

_Of all the trees that are in the wood,_

_The holly bears the crown;_

_O! the rising of the sun_

_And the running of the deer;_

_Let us dance and sing in the Greenwood_

_At the turning of the year..._

_The holly bears a blossom_

_As white as lily flower;_

_We should dance and sing in the Greenwood_

_That the Dark come not to power._

_The holly bears a bark_

_As bitter as any gall;_

_We must dance and sing in the Greenwood_

_Lest the Shadow cover all._

_The holly bears a berry_

_As red as any blood;_

_We shall dance and sing in the Greenwood_

_That the Dark turn at the flood._

_The holly bears a prickle_

_As sharp as any thorn;_

_We'll yet dance and sing in the Greenwood_

_That the Dark give way to dawn!_

As he came back to the refrain and lapsed into humming, Legolas turned his gaze back to the _talan_ and realised that Rowanna had ceased brushing and was sitting stock still, staring at him. He moved swiftly across to kneel at her feet.

"What is it, _melethen?_ You look, as Mortals would say, as though you had seen a ghost..."

"That song." Rowanna slowly put down her brush. "I'd – I'd never listened, not _really_ listened, to the words before. I've heard you all sing it at the winter solstice year in and year out – but I just heard yet another lilting Wood-elven tune with words all about singing and dancing in the woods. But – it's..." She struggled for words.

"Most other races are apparently convinced that all Elven songs are about nothing but _singing-and-dancing-in-the-woods_, as you put it," her beloved observed wryly. He reached for the jug of steaming mulled wine that stood on a low table nearby, poured them each a beaker and settled himself at her side to begin braiding her hair. "And that tune seems to have been taken up by the Gondorrim and often sung at their _mettar__ë _as if it were just a cheerful rustic folksong, it's true. But the Wood-elves' version is far, far older..."

"And _darker_," Rowanna pointed out with a shiver, taking a grateful sip of her wine.

"And like many of our songs its roots go much deeper – and, yes, darker – than Men know," Legolas agreed, dividing the glossy dark fall of her hair into sections and beginning to weave. "The winter solstice may not be our New Year, as it is the Dúnedain's... but for the best part of an Age now, the Wood-elves have danced and sung at the darkest time of the year; because we had to."

"I always thought –" Rowanna shook her head, puzzled. "That the Firstborn loved the time without the Sun; before the coming of the Sun and Moon..."

"But that was never _darkness," _Legolas said softly. "That was twilight, starlight, _tinnu_ and _gilgalad,_ that only the Eldest of the Eldest remember. And when the Sun and Moon were made, still the turning of the world from darkness to light and back again was as natural as the seasons. But then... the Shadow came. Gradually it encroached upon the Greenwood; first Sauron, and then his creatures, reached their icy black fingers out from Dol Guldur until the forest darkened and died, and Men named it Mirkwood, and the Forest of Great Fear. Our folk were driven back, and back, and back..."

"And yet you never gave in." She wanted to turn and look at him, to see his face, but his deft fingers were still working to and fro at the back of her head, holding her in place.

"_Father_ never gave in." Pride, and love, radiated from Legolas. "He had lost so much, after the Dagorlad: limped home with a broken third of an army, with thousands slaughtered and Grandfather dead; and it was years, they tell me, before he so much as smiled. But he would not break. And so the more the Shadow grew, the more determined he was that at the turning of the year... at the moment of greatest darkness... we should dance." He chuckled as he swept the braids up and wove them together securely, ducking his head to kiss the nape of her exposed neck. "I know you always say that our feast-nights have a thousand times more life than any ball in Minas Tirith... but truly, _melethen_, you have not seen anything. Drinking, dancing, leaping the bonfires... when the Necromancer, as we thought him then, was at the height of his powers, our solstice nights were _wild_."

"You're almost making me sorry I missed them." She twisted in her seat, hooking an arm around his neck and drawing him in for a kiss. Legolas returned it with interest.

"_I'm_ not sorry. The feast-nights, yes – but the rest; living always on edge, wary of every stranger – especially Dwarves! – the orcs, the spiders; never knowing when we would have to bring our people in from the forest to crowd into the safety of the caverns, always patrolling, always on watch... I would not have had you endure that, my love, for the world." He shook his head. "Sometimes I still cannot believe it is all gone, in a heartbeat. That what shadow remains is in the hearts of the Free Peoples, and that we alone must amend it for ourselves. And that our winter solstice nights, now, mark nothing more than the turning of the year, from the darkness back to the light."

He drew back for a moment to look at her, and suddenly – with one of those quicksilver changes of mood she so loved in him – his eyes were dancing and he broke into a smile.

"Which is not to say, _melethen_, that _this_ solstice night here in our new Greenwood, with wine and fire and feasting with the Elves of the Wood... cannot be as wild as you like!"

With that they drained their wine and threw their cloaks around their shoulders; Legolas took Rowanna's hand and led her, laughing, down into the clearing to join the feast.

...

**Author's Notes:**

Eryn Edhellen – the Wood of the Elves – is the name which in the _Powers_-verse has been given, probably by the Men of Gondor rather than the Elves themselves, to Legolas' settlement in Ithilien.

The death of Legolas' grandfather Oropher, and two-thirds of the Wood-elves under his command, took place at the end of the Second Age at the Battle of Dagorlad, the decisive battle of the War of the Last Alliance, and is recounted in _Unfinished Tales_.

The Shadow (the influence of the Necromancer, later discovered to be Sauron) began to grow in Greenwood the Great – subsequently known as Mirkwood – about a thousand years into the Third Age. In my personal head-canon, Legolas was probably born during the Watchful Peace, later in the Third Age when Sauron had temporarily withdrawn into the East of Middle-earth.

I was singing _The Holly and the Ivy_ to myself the other day when it occurred to me how little adaptation this traditional carol would need to make it perfect for the Wood-elves. A winter solstice mathom for my LJ friends, who bring light into the dark corners for me.


	8. In the Wind from the Sea

**In the Wind from the Sea**

_Dôr Ararych, F.A. 18, Nénimë [February]_

The Prince of Ithilien contemplated the small group gathered with him around the great oak table; his Mistress of Horse, Elboron his son, and a blond horse-lord, Eádwine, come on behalf of his master Béodred of Rohan. The stone house which Gimli the Dwarf had designed and constructed for Rowanna and Legolas a few years earlier was warm despite the _Nénimë_ chill; _a much more comfortable place to discuss the lease of a stud horse from the Eastfold than the open paddock, or Rowanna's old wooden cabin, would have been,_ Faramir admitted to himself_. And now that, as Elboron kindly points out, I officially have my first grey hairs, I can surely insist on a little comfort! _

Legolas himself was not present – and indeed, Faramir gathered, had not been seen at Dôr Ararych for several weeks.

"He's off planting tree-seedlings," Rowanna had explained with a roll of her eyes; "you know how it has been at Stirring the last few years! Ever since he judged that the soil was clean enough along the Ithilduin to begin replanting there…" She smiled. "He'll come when he will, and go when he will between here and the Elves' settlement, as he ever does. If he needs me – or I him – we soon know." _One day_, the Steward had reflected, _I'm going to summon up the courage to ask her whether she really does talk to trees…_

"So, my friends," Faramir leant his elbows on the table and marked items off on his fingers, "we would appear to have agreement: firstly, on the loan of Hengist for a month in late spring or early summer, with his being put to the mares Mistress Rowanna shall select. Secondly, on Hengist's care and stabling, given that Eádwine has walked the meadows and the stables with Rowanna this morning and, Master Eádwine, you are entirely satisfied with our provision?"

"Aye, my lord," the Rohir rumbled in his heavily accented Westron. "'Tis true he is used to roaming across half the Eastfold in Master Béodred's herds, so he'll find life a little different here, but your river-meadows will more than content him!"

"So will our mares, I think you'll find!" Rowanna pointed out, fine lines crinkling around her eyes as she smiled. She was in her perennial jerkin and breeches, though Faramir noticed that her thick black hair was swept up with a little more care than usual above her long tanned neck, rather than tumbling out of its braid. _Didn't she once say that Béodred had hoped to marry her before the Ring War?_ he found himself wondering. _Perhaps even our Mistress of Horse has a little vanity after all, and wants a good report of her carried back by Eádwine…_

Eádwine was saying something further, but Rowanna suddenly looked distracted; she caught her breath while Eádwine was mid-sentence, and her gaze wandered to the window which looked out towards the forest. Then she shook her head as though to clear it, and the Steward resumed:

"It only remains then, I think, to discuss the fee –"

He got no further; for there was a burst of subdued murmuring in the hallway outside and one of the maids who kept house for Rowanna entered. On her heels was a figure who caused Eádwine's clear blue eyes to widen; a tall slender Wood-elf clad in mingled shades of brown and green that seemed to shift and change as he moved, as though he would blend into the very forest. His dark hair was fastened in countless tiny braids caught up in a knot above the quiver and short bow he bore on his back, and over his cheekbones scrolled the fine lines of a Greenwood marchwarden's tattoos. Faramir noted with relief that eighteen-year-old Elboron, brought to sit in on this discussion as an early step in his education on the government of Ithilien, had the grace and courtesy not to stare.

The Wood-elf – _ that's Galathil_, realised Faramir – dipped his head briefly to the Steward and spoke urgently to Rowanna in lilting tones full of strange clicks and liquid sounds. Faramir had never managed to pronounce a word of Nandorin properly, and it had no books of lore he could study; but over years of interested eavesdropping on Legolas' folk, he had learned to understand a little, at least of those words closest to the Grey Tongue, and he thought he caught _"Laeglass"_ and something that sounded like the word for "sea". _That isn't good! It must be years since the Wood-elves last had to come for her thus – _A moment later his guess seemed confirmed, for Rowanna paled, halfway out of her seat even as she spoke tensely in Sindarin.

"All right. I'm coming." She continued to Faramir, still in the Grey Tongue: "My lord Steward, I must ask your pardon, Legolas needs me –"

"Go," the Steward assured her quickly. "If there is anything we can do, only ask – and send us word, when you can… "

Rowanna nodded, said something swift and apologetic to the startled Eádwine in Rohirric and was gone, boots ringing on the slate floor of the hallway.

"Forgive the disruption, Master Eádwine," Faramir went on, switching from long practice back into his most diplomatic mode, "Mistress Rowanna is needed urgently elsewhere. Fortunately, she and I have already had some debate about the value we would place upon the services of Hengist; so I think we may nonetheless proceed to discussion of the stud fee…"

...

Rowanna, meanwhile, had hastily saddled the first available of her mounts. Riding with Galathil south and eastwards into the woods of Ithilien as fast as the terrain would permit, she kept a watchful eye for tree-roots and boulders even as she strained not to force the horse to a gallop. _Hold on, beloved – I'm coming… _

As they drew closer to the Elves' settlement she began to sense the sound of the surf; at first a whisper, then a steady repeating hiss. By the time Galathil dismounted and said urgently "_Enel'da"_, and led her on foot into the denser woodland, it was roaring in her ears and she could smell the salt on the wind as Legolas smelt it, feel the undertow pulling, pulling…

Another figure in green and brown melted out of the trees and embraced her gratefully. "You're here! At last…"

"I'm sorry, Taurlaegel, I came as soon as I could –"

"We feared we might need you, this morning, when we smelt the wind turning to the south-west," Taurlaegel told her as he guided her through the trees. "So we were ready. But he's far gone – it's a while now since we've seen him thus…"

"Where is he?" Rowanna looked around anxiously as the Wood-elf drew to a halt. Taurlaegel gestured overhead.

"He's up there."

Rowanna grimaced. "He could at least have found a _talan!_.."

"Believe me, we were just glad he was aloft," Taurlaegel said firmly. "If he'd been on the ground and able to get to a horse, I'd wager he'd be at the Harlond by now, and you flying to reach him before he could take ship for the coastlands! Falastir and Rumion are up there, making sure he doesn't try to come down..."

She shuddered. "There's no way I can reach even those lower branches, though. Can you get a rope-ladder up?"

"Already done," Taurlaegel assured her. He made a whistling call, and a moment later the promised ladder descended, the Elf catching it and pegging it down so that she could climb more easily; she tucked her cloak into her belt and went up.

_It's just as well I've had twenty years' practice at tree-climbing!_ Rowanna reflected as she reached the top of the ladder and swung her leg over the branch. _When first I came to Ithilien I'd have been risking my neck if I'd tried this..._

"Can you get to us?" came Falastir's lilting tones from somewhere to her right. As her eyes grew accustomed to the shifting patterns of sunlight and shadow, she saw him crouched on another branch; and curled in its fork against the trunk, pressed tightly against the bark, was the huddled form of Legolas. She caught her breath; _he's so far away, there's almost nothing left. Taurlaegel was right, he's a long way gone..._

"Yes, I think so – _argh!"_ She had almost slipped; quickly Rumion descended and walked easily along the limb towards her, reaching out a hand_. _With his help, she worked her way along the branch. As she reached the fork where Legolas was huddled, Rumion crouched for a moment to make sure she could sit securely, then reached up and pulled himself one-handed on to a higher branch, out of her way. She wedged herself as close to Legolas as she could, wrapping both arms around his body from behind, resting her cheek against his. He did not stir, and he was very cold.

"I'm here, beloved," she whispered in his ear. "I'm here – come back now…"

She reached out through their embrace, with all her senses, trying to find him. At first there was only the roaring of the sea in her mind's ear, punctuated by the high keening cries of gulls and the whipping of the wind; she saw the expanse of water, the vastness of the horizon, felt the loneliness and the power and the endless repeating call of "_Come…. Come…"_

_Come back_, she insisted, over and over. _Come back to Ithilien; to the woods and the meadows and the sunlight on the leaves, the scents of herb and flower and woodsmoke and earth. Come back to your friends, and your people, and me…_

Then she sensed him; turned away from her, in mind as well as in body, fixated on the endless ebb and flow of the great grey water. But he was aware of her now, she could tell, and she held him tighter yet and went on murmuring to him.

_Not yet, beloved; it shall not have you yet awhile, against your will and your heart. The Sea will still be there when you choose to go, when you deem it time, when at last, as you promised, you tell me farewell. Not yet; come back… _

He heard her, she knew; she wanted to rock him in her arms, but dared not disturb her precarious balance on the branch, so she simply went on holding him and whispering. She could feel the storm of his emotions now as he began to open to her; the yearning for the Sea, the longing to give in and be pulled away by the tide forever, colliding and clashing like an opposing current with the aching physical need for the woods, the trees, the land he had made his own; the need for her.

At last, he shifted a little; enough to turn his head and bury his face in her neck with a great shuddering gasp. She held him to her, stroked the gleaming fall of hair; let him take in the scent of her skin with its hints of sweet hay and leather and, _yes_, she thought, _even the mucking-out I did this morning_. _Anything but the west wind and the salt and the tang of the Sea!_ Gradually his deep breaths steadied; he was warmer now and his heartbeat, which had been so faint and then as he turned back to her had hammered in his chest, was slowing.

"How is it with you, my love?" she asked softly.

"I… it's… ebbing," he muttered into her shoulder. "Don't – let go…"

"I won't. You know I never let go."

Slowly he began to relax into her embrace. She could hear birds beginning to go to roost, now; the sun had set and there was bluish twilight beneath the trees. Rowanna became aware that she had not moved for hours, and that one of her legs, wedged into the fork of the tree, was badly cramped.

"Legolas, can you move? Could you stand?"

"Yes, _meleth_, I think so. Why?"

"Because if I don't get off this branch soon I shall be completely numb, and I don't know whether you're up to carrying me!"

To her relief, he chuckled shakily.

"Then we must get you down at once! Is that Falastir above? – your aid, _meldiren_?"

The Wood-elf dropped easily on to their branch, helping Rowanna shift enough for Legolas to get up. She got back down to earth with the help of the rope-ladder; Legolas spurned it, but Rowanna noticed how closely Falastir watched him descend from branch to branch and slide down the trunk. Stretching her aching arms and legs, she turned to find Taurlaegel at her elbow.

"My thanks, my lady. All our thanks."

Rowanna shook her head. "You know I need him as much as you do! I only hope there never comes a day –" She bit off the thought, but she knew Taurlaegel could finish it himself.

"I'll stay here tonight," she said, glad to turn to practicalities. "Can you send word for me to Dôr Ararych? And if the Steward has already left when the messenger gets there, then on to Emyn Arnen, to let him know all is well?"

Taurlaegel nodded. "At once. I've already asked someone to see to your _talan._ There's a fire going and supper cooking – will you and Legolas eat with us?"

She shook her head. "I'd rather we were quiet together for a while – but he ought to eat; and I'll confess I'm ravenous! Could you send something up to the _talan?_ We might come down to the fire later, but for now he should rest…"

Wrapping an arm firmly around Legolas, she led him through the trees, skirting the open clearing where the Wood-elves met in the evenings to share food and fire, to the great cedar which sheltered their _talan_. As the settlement had grown over the last few years, Legolas' folk had constructed both communal _telain_ for meeting and for crafts, and private ones for those who preferred not simply to sleep and live in the branches of the trees themselves; while the communal _telain_ were open to all, the private ones were sacrosanct, and none would be disturbed there – least of all Legolas and Rowanna – except in direst need.

They slowly climbed the spiral stair which wound upwards around the cedar's trunk. As they stepped on to the platform Rowanna saw that as Taurlaegel had promised, the _talan_ was ready for them; someone had unrolled the padded mats which could be used either to sit or to sleep on and spread the coverlets over them, let down the embroidered hangings which served as curtains if desired, and set tinder and flint ready by the oil-filled lanterns. The small woodburning stove Gimli had designed for the _talan_ had been lit, making a welcome haven of warmth enclosed by the hangings._ They even left some wine..._

They pulled off their boots as they entered, and Rowanna reached up to unpin her hair, shaking it out over her shoulders with a sigh of relief. Padding barefoot around the edge of the _talan_, she lit the lanterns one by one, bathing the space in golden light, and reached into the wooden chest which stood in one corner, pulling out and scattering several extra cushions; Legolas sank back on to them and watched her.

"Do you want the roof open or closed, _meleth nin_?" she asked softly.

"Open, if you'll not be cold? We won't have rain tonight, and – I would rather see the stars..."

The _talan_'s roof-canopy was supported on slender carved pillars at each corner, and extended a foot or so beyond the platform all around, to allow Ithilien's occasional heavy rain to run off harmlessly. But its half-dozen panels of waxed cloth, which fitted perfectly together when in place, could be rolled up individually and tied back to reveal part or all of the sky. Rowanna opened several of the panels, picked up the wine and the two beakers, and eased herself on to the matting at Legolas' side.

"Here, my love; I'm not sure which of us needs this more..."

She passed him a beaker, catching up his hand and kissing his knuckles as she did so, and then took a long relieved draught of her own.

"That's better," she observed, "at least you're warm now! You were – so still, and so cold..."

"And you?" he asked, reaching to stroke her hair where it lay loose down her back. "You must have sat holding me in that cypress for hours."

"I might be stiff in the morning!" Rowanna acknowledged. She rolled her shoulders a couple of times, grimacing. "No – I _will_ be..."

"Let me," Legolas said softly, shifting a little to kneel behind her. He put down his wine-beaker clear of the matting and began to massage her shoulders, then her neck, shifting the wavy mass of her dark hair forward out of his way. Rowanna sighed heavily, arching into the firm pressure of his thumbs.

As he finished and leant forwards to kiss her throat, a voice called softly from below; when Legolas responded, one of the Elves appeared bearing a tray of plates, bread and a lidded bowl of steaming stew.

"_Na maer, Legolas?" _ he enquired hesitantly.

"_Na maer, Erymaethor,"_ Legolas assured him. _"Avo gosto."_

Erymaethor set the tray down, bowed to Rowanna with one hand over his heart, and was gone.

"And now," she said firmly to Legolas as she filled their plates, "you are going to eat! When did you last have anything?"

"I'm... not certain." Legolas frowned. "I don't remember when it began, exactly…" _As if I needed proof that under the Sea-longing he's not himself_, Rowanna reflected; _when else is his memory ever less than perfect?_

"Before noon, surely," she observed between mouthfuls, "for Galathil was at Dôr Ararych well before sundown. And Taurlaegel said he'd smelt the wind turning this morning and feared for you."

"They know me better than I do myself," he admitted ruefully. "I was thinking over all the planting we've done this last moon-round, and Falastir and I were up in that cypress mulling over where we should next look to set seedlings, and then…" He tailed off.

"I was thinking, after something I said to Taurlaegel –" She broke off, and he raised a questioning eyebrow. "Your people, here, the colony… What would they do, if you sailed West? What _will _they do?"

"That, only each of them knows," Legolas said sombrely as he reached for a hunk of the bread. "Remember, my folk are Wood-elven, descended from the Moriquendi who never saw the light of the Trees, never sailed to Valinor; and some are outright Avari. Some, perhaps, might brave the Straight Road with me, or follow behind; a good many, I suspect, will go back to Eryn Lasgalen – to Father." His voice caught for a moment, and Rowanna squeezed his hand. "And some, if they have come to love Ithilien well enough, will stay here – and, at last, fade…"

"Fade?" she asked, puzzled, as she gathered up the empty plates and left the tray at the entrance to the _talan_.

"Bilbo never taught you of the Fading of the Elves?" Legolas tried to smile, but it was shaky. "Men say that the Firstborn are immortal, and indeed our spirits are so, but… east of the Sea our bodies are not everlasting. A _rhaw_ that is ages old may become tired of life at last, and slowly fade away altogether, so that only the _faer_ remains, a houseless spirit. And with the power of the Three gone from Middle-earth, it may well be that that fading will come all the faster. I know Mithrandir believed it would be so, and Galadriel too…"

In his voice she heard the ache of loss borne and sorrow yet to come; she dropped on the cushions beside him and gathered him into her arms, hugging him fiercely as though love alone could hold back the relentless passing of the Age. He shifted in her embrace, tilting her face up to his.

"Are you sure you should not be resting?" she murmured as his fingers tangled in her hair and his other hand slid under her linen shirt.

"No!" he insisted between kisses. "I – need you – need _this_…"

Then he abandoned speech entirely, and told her wordlessly with mouth and hands; _hold me, beloved, anchor me, ground me even against the pull of the Sea…_

All the gossip of Rohan or Gondor she had ever heard suggested that the more urgent a Man's passion, the quicker it was usually all over. Not so, she had found over the years, being with an Elf; the greater their desire, often, the longer the two of them would take to accomplish it, revelling in every moment and every inch. Slowly, as the lanterns burned down, she reclaimed him from the Sea's call; slowly he rooted himself once again, in Ithilien, in Middle-earth, in her. At last they lay spent in each other's arms, gazing through the canopy at the stars.

"You came back," she murmured, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest under her cheek. His hold on her tightened.

"_You_ brought me back."

"I knew… it must have taken you unawares; that you did not will to go. If you'd decided it was time…"

"Then, as I always promised, I would have said goodbye." She felt the warmth of his love and desire enfolding her. "You were right. I would not yield to it – even had I reached the very shores of the Sea I would not have yielded to it till I had kept that promise; and yet I could not turn back… not until you came."

"I'll always come. That _I_ promise _you_. I love you."

"And I you…"

His voice was a whisper, and moments later Rowanna realised he had drifted into dream. No – not dream; for shifting on to an elbow she discovered his eyes had closed. _He truly is exhausted. I only ever saw him do that twice before, and one of those was on the Pelennor, in Aragorn's tent, after the siege. So long ago – before either of us knew…_

She drew the covers up around his shoulders, and curled up with her head once again on his shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his heart. _For once, meleth nin, it seems _I _am going to guard_ your_ dreams. Sleep well._

But she was also too weary to lie awake long, and the Elves on watch through the night passed around and over the _talan_ without disturbing her; she and Legolas slept undisturbed till dawn broke over Ithilien.

...

**Author's Notes:**

Grateful thanks to curiouswombat for invaluable comma policing.

_Dôr Ararych_ – Place of Noble Horses: the Steward's stud farm between Cormallen and Emyn Arnen run by Rowanna.

_Ithilduin_: my renaming of the Morgulduin, the stream which flowed southwestwards out of the Ephel Dúath through North Ithilien into the Anduin. It seems likely that, as Gondor slowly reclaimed Ithilien from the ravages of the Enemy, the hated names associated with Sauron's rule would have been changed back too; and since the Morgulduin took its name from the watchtower of Minas Morgul, and that tower had originally been Minas Ithil, the logical Gondorian name for the stream ought to be the Ithilduin.

_Enel'da_ – semi-invented Nandorin. According to Ardalambion, _enel_ meant "in the middle" or "between", so this is intended to mean something like "through here". Whether the Wood-elves would actually have spoken Nandorin by the late Third and early Fourth Age is debatable; Tolkien said in _Unfinished Tales _that "By the end of the Third Age, the Silvan tongues had **probably** ceased to be spoken in the two regions that had importance at the time of the War of the Ring: Lórien and the realm of Thranduil in northern Mirkwood. All that survived of them **in the records** was a few words and several names of persons and places." However, I'm using that "probably" as my get-out clause, as I like the idea of at least some of Thranduil's people, wary of outsiders as they seem to have been, continuing to speak Nandorin; and perhaps, given that Sindarin was spoken by many Gondorrim, those who came south with Legolas might have used the Silvan tongue when they did not want others to understand them…

_talan_ – platform for sleeping/living on (as used by the Galadhrim in Lothlórien)

_meldiren_ - my [male] friend

_Na maer_ – "all well" (literally, "it is good")

_Avo gosto_ – "don't worry" (literally, "do not fear")

_rhaw_ – body

_faer_ – spirit

_meleth nin_ – my love


End file.
